Pull My Puppet Strings
by Fluffy Darkness
Summary: Velina knew Jack Napier before he got his scars, when they performed in the circus together. After a show went awry, he disappeared. Now, 12 years later, she meets the Joker. But does he remember her? Previously called "Comparing Scars"
1. Prologue

**This is my first Dark Knight fic, a little plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. It takes place a bit pre, but mostly during TDK. Oh, and I live off of reviews, so please tell me what you think. **

**Disclaimer: Regretfully, I do not own the Joker. *sigh***

Prologue:

I sit, staring transfixed at my hands resting on my lap. Well, they don't rest; they twitch and shake uncontrollably, causing the chain of the handcuffs to rattle. One of my wrists is bound to the chair by the cuffs. I could easily free myself, but that would only make my predicament worse.

"Are you all right, Miss?" His voice is calm, warm. He wants me to be comfortable, but my mind is far from being at ease, and my insides twist painfully as I quiver. Perhaps I shiver with fear, but I doubt it. I don't fear this man, who gazes at me from across the table, for I know that he means me no harm.

"Miss?" I don't look at him. I don't want to see the way that he's looking at me, whether it be with pity or disgust. He must be staring at my lips. He sighs, surely weary from what has taken place only an hour ago. Has it really only been an hour since I last saw Him?

"Can you tell me your name?" He slides a pen and a pad of paper across the table. I allow my gaze to flicker up at him for a moment, and I see that he is eyeing me expectantly. I force my hands to cease their continuous twitching and grasp the pen. Slowly, I write my name on the paper, but my nerves get the best of me, and I find myself looking at illegible scribbles. I try again, concentrating on each letter as a separate piece of artwork, completing every line and curve in my unsteady hand. I drop the pen onto the table and the tiny clatter it creates resonates in my ears.

He squints at my small print and gains a thoughtful expression, as though he's just realized something very important. "Miss Victoire?" I nod my head solemnly. "French, I presume?" Again, I nod. I know that he's not interested in my name's origins; he only wishes to pacify my troubled mind.

"Now, Miss Victoire, we have reason to believe that you are connected to the Joker." My eyes widen and my tremors begin anew. "I know that it may be hard, but I need you to tell me everything that you know about him." I remain silent. I ignore the pad of paper that he sets before me again.

"Several officers say that you are responsible for his escape! Now talk!" He slams his hands onto the table, making me wince.

I attempt to part my lips, but the wave of pain that rips through them reminds me that I can't. A small whimper is all that I produce, along with a tear that rolls down my cheek. He's staring at my lips again. Their reddish color gives me away. His look is one of pity, but I don't want his pity.

"We know that you were a hostage in his schemes. If you give us what we want, we can protect you." I don't want his protection, as strange as it sounds. Do I need it? Perhaps. From Him? Of course not.

There's so much that I wish I could tell you, Commissioner Gordon...about _Him_. And it isn't the fact that my lips are sewn together that keeps me from doing so. You say that the fishing line can be removed, but I won't allow anyone near my mouth. It's not mine to be touched...and He never liked people touching His things. There's only one person who will ever grant me permission to speak again; until He does, my lips are sealed.

I know that I should speak, metaphorically, that is. The safety, and the sanity, of Gotham City could be resting in my hands at this moment. Yet, I can't bring myself to disclose what I know, what I've experienced. Are my reasons selfish? Yes. Are they noble? I'd like to think so.

_"You're very good at twisting and con-torting things, my dear, but there's one thing you'll never be able to shape to your pretty little liking. Ya see, stone...it doesn't uh...mold very well."_

I sigh through my nose as another tear escapes between my lashes. There is so much that I wish I could say, but even I am still wondering how everything managed to spiral out of control. _I_ never had any control over the situation, but surely someone must have, right? Did _He_? I'd like to believe that He did. After all, what else can I possibly allow myself to believe?

I glance up at the clock. Six more minutes have passed in silence. It's been three weeks, two days, nine hours, twenty-seven minutes, and forty-eight seconds, forty-nine, fifty, fifty-one...since this entire thing began.

My silence must frustrate him, but he's not giving up yet. He stands, pushes his chair in, and walks toward the door. Placing his hand on the doorknob, he opens the door and turns back to look at me. "Just think about it. I'll be back when you're ready to talk."

I ignore him, turning my face away from his disappointed gaze. Another sigh, and I hear the door close behind him. The ticking of the clock echoes throughout the room. Tick...tick...tick. It reminds me of a bomb.

_"Well, what about ice?"_

_"Stone, ice, take your pick. Doesn't matter...to me."_

I remember that I chose ice. Stone was hard, resolute. But ice...ice was cold, but beautiful. If you added the right amount of warmth, it could melt, change its shape. If you were careless, it could break, become irreparable. I wonder if I managed to melt it at all. Anyone else would declare such a feat to be impossible. Unconsciously, I move my free hand up to my mouth. Pulling it away, the pads of my fingers are red. The sight fills me with a dim light of hope; perhaps it proves those other people wrong.

The Commissioner told me to think...but about what? Surely he has figured out that I refuse to tell him anything. But, nonetheless, I do find myself reminiscing. Perhaps now I might be able to make sense of everything. Best start at the beginning....

**Should I continue?**


	2. Drunk on Shadows

Chapter 1: Drunk on Shadows

I sat at the vanity, staring at my pallid reflection in the cracked mirror. My eyes were meticulously lined with black, lids covered in a shimmering red powder. My copper curls were piled atop my head, and the glitter sprinkled over them sparkled in the dim lighting. I gently applied black gloss to my numb, pressed lips. Finding my appearance to be satisfactory, I glanced up at the clock and...well, I would have gasped, but a simple action like that was no longer within my ability. I only had several minutes left to prepare myself. Hopping down from the dusty stool, I inspected my costume: a black, skintight, distastefully low cut leotard, which ended in a short skirt, purposefully ripped in several places. The part beneath the skirt, which was supposed to cover my thighs, had been cut away, and the black thong was giving me a wedgie...again. I shook my head in disapproval. It was a good thing that you had to be at least eighteen years of age to gain entrance to these shows. I would've been wearing leather, but luckily my performance needed something more flexible to move around in. I'd always hated leather.

Languidly, I strode towards the tent flap, rocking back and forth on my heels as I waited for my partner to arrive. I bent over to peek through a small slit in the tent, my eye roaming the vast ring and the audience. Suddenly, I felt something brush up against my upper thigh, and I whipped around. Standing there behind me was a man wearing a clown mask. I was unimpressed, to say the least. I figured he was one of the newbies, trying to get a scare out of me for kicks; but he seemed nervous, and I noticed that his eyes were roaming over my body. I turned away, feeling the sensation that I wasn't supposed to experience until the audience saw me.

When I turned around again, he was gone. Instead, there stood my partner, dressed completely in black leather and holding the familiar poison green box in his hands. On the floor, the box only came up to knee height and was less than two feet wide. He opened the top and gestured hurriedly. Rolling my eyes, I stepped into the box and twisted into my normal position as I sat down; he closed the lid over my head. Darkness surrounded me as I felt the box being lifted up into the air.

The usual voice then proceeded to flood out of the speakers: "People of Gotham City! Direct your attention to the far back curtain!" A heard the click of a spotlight being turned on and the sound of fabric sliding against fabric as the tent flaps were pulled open. "I present to you, Miss Velina Victoire, The Living Rag Doll, and her handler, Trevor Pilantzer!"

The eerie music slithered out of the speakers, creeping into my ears like a spider. It surrounded my head and my mind was submerged into its murky depths. Suddenly, I felt the box land on the ground and the lid lifted open. A hand reached in and tugged me up by an arm. I squinted my eye as the blinding spotlight pierced into my iris. At once, I was no longer myself, but I had become the rag doll of my profession. Gingerly, I stepped out of the box, and at once, my "handler" dropped me. I fell to the ground with a distinct thump, every one of my limbs completely limp. He lifted me up by my arms, only to allow me to fall back to the ground, my torso folding over my legs, which I then moved into a splitting position. He grabbed my left arm this time, and with a quiet popping sensation, it now rested behind my head, lying directly on top of my right arm.

I was lifted by my waist, my feet now able to touch the ground. Popping my shoulder back into place, I took several steps forward, my legs wavering as though I moved in a drunken haze. The audience had gone completely quiet by now, and I understood their silence. I didn't think that there was a person who could look at me for the first time and repress the urge to stare. Of course, their curious eyes would first lock onto my face, and their gaze would soon change to one of disgust. They would take the rest of my body into account before turning away or at least averting their eyes. And now, I was being judged by perhaps a couple hundred people who were too blind to see that I was a person. In their eyes, I was only a freak. Of course, I couldn't possibly expect anything else. People didn't perform in freak shows...only freaks did.

Lazily, I bent over backward until my hands touched the ground, then eased myself down slowly so that I was resting on my chest, my legs hanging over my head. And then I saw it, a hunched form by the entrance of the tent. The figure turned in my direction and when the light caught on his face at just the right angle, I started with fright. Darkness swam before my eyes and my legs flopped down on the ground behind me. My knees stung, but I had no need to worry about finishing my act. Several men wearing clown masks came barging through the entrance, and that hunched figure came in right behind them. Screams of terror filled the tent at his appearance. I heard a gunshot, and the next thing I knew, my partner was lying on the ground beside me, a bullet in his forehead. I would have screamed, but all I produced was a loud whine.

"Well, well, well..." I heard a grating voice drawl. The crowd had gone deadly silent. Raising my eye, fighting back the dizziness that had overcome me, I was met with a sight that literally took my breath away. There stood a man wearing a suit of deep purple. His face was covered in white greasepaint, his eyes surrounded by black pools. At the corners of his mouth, two horrible scars began and ran up his cheeks. His lips and scars were smothered in red, forming a morbid grin upon his face. His oily hair was blond, tinged with green. "The circus was in town, and no one thought to give _me_ a call? That hurts, that really just...hurts." He placed a purple-gloved hand over his chest in mock sadness. "And here I thought you all ab-so-lutely _loved_ me!" And he laughed, cackling like a madman as his less-than-funny remark. My vision began to blur, and I suddenly couldn't get enough air through my nose.

He stepped into the spotlight, brown shoes appearing just out of the corner of my eye, but I couldn't muster the strength to move away. Fear had taken hold of every fibre in my body. Lifting my gaze, I saw that he was looking down at me curiously. Ah, of course, I had forgotten that my skirt no longer covered my butt, and he was taking in more than his fair share of such a sight. Shaking his head, he turned to the audience and kicked me to the side, beginning to laugh again.

"You see, I just wanted to join the _fun_ of such an event. And for sooome reason, you all seem to have a problem with that." I fixed my gaze on him, watching at he pulled out a switchblade from his jacket pocket. His tongue darted out quickly to brush against his scars. "I think you need to just learn how to laugh...like _me_!" He gestured towards himself with the knife. "Here, I'll show you something _real_ funny!" He removed a small small gun from his coat as well and pointed in a random direction before pulling the trigger. There was a blast and someone in the crowd dropped dead. More screams arose, and he gazed around, grinning contentedly. The soft click of a gun's safety lock reached my ears. Apparently, the clown heard it too, because he whirled around to see the ringmaster pointing a revolver at his face. The master had silver scars crisscrossing his entire face, a sight which only made the madman grin even more.

"Get out of here," he commanded. Unfortunately, his hands shook, completely ruining the whole tough guy act. He shook even more as the clown advanced upon him.

He rolled his eyes in an annoyed fashion. "Ah, _bucko_...still thinking that you can tell _me_ what to do?" He broke into a horrible fit of laughter until he was almost wheezing. "I'm the Clown Prince!" His gaze lost all of its humor, and he bellowed, "_No one_ commands the Joker!" At his words, I was sure that I would pass out. A shot was fired, the bullet grazing the Joker's arm just barely. All traces of mirth were wiped clean from his face, and before I knew what was happening, I was lifted off of the ground and pressed flush up against his body. The cold bite of his knife pressed against my neck and my nostrils were flooded with the overpowering scents of gunpowder and leather. I hate leather.

"Ah ta ta, one more move and uhh, this little pretty is gonna be spilt all over the floor." Again, he briefly ran his tongue across his scars. He glanced down at me. "Come on, _Doll_," he whispered, "scream a little. Makes it more dra-ma-tic." His eyes then rested on my mouth, and he frowned suddenly. "Obviously I'm not the only one who...who practices the art of carving." His disturbing laugh filled my ears and I could feel him shaking against my backside. Slowly, he began to walk backwards, retreating towards the opening. His goons made their way out of the tent, and now the Joker stood just inside the entrance. "Oh, and one more thing." He pulled a remote out of his jacket and held it in front of me. "Mind doing the honors, Sweets?" Timidly I reached forward, only because I didn't dare refuse a request from this madman, and pressed the single button on the contraption. Immediately, he ran out, howling with pure joy, still clutching me to his chest.

The sounds of explosions and more screaming reached my ears, but I barely registered anything as he made his way through the parking lot. A black van neared us, coming to a screeching halt before us. One of his men opened the door and he tossed me into the back before jumping in after me. He took out another detonator, and jammed one gloved finger into the button. More explosions resonated from the parking lot now behind us. Numbly, I felt myself slide across the floor as the van made a sharp turn. My mind was hazy and I felt drunk on the shadows flickering across my vision. By the time my mind succumbed to darkness, I was drowning in the Joker's insane laughter and wallowing in the childhood that had finally come back for me.


	3. Saving Us

**reeniecat and hatorisgirl15, I thank you for leaving such kind reviews. They make me a very happy little authoress. Now, without further ado...**

Chapter 2: Saving Us

_I was frustrated, squirming and wriggling on the floor, my arms bound behind me in a straight jacket. The master had decided to further my training, introducing me to the wonderful article of clothing that I now wore. He'd grown tired of watching my useless attempts to free myself, and had left over two hours ago. But, I was persistent, and continued to struggle against my bonds. Breathing heavily, I grunted with irritation that had been slowly increasing with every failed attempt to rid myself of the jacket, and I began to trash about, no longer dealing with my predicament rationally._

_A cough from behind startled me, and I turned towards where the sound came from. There stood a boy, leaning against the entrance of the truck; I'd always hated that we lived in semi trucks, but that's how life was when you were constantly on the move. Actually, he wasn't really a boy, more like a teenager. His lanky form was clothed in a gray sweatshirt and a pair of rather baggy jeans with holes in the knees; his sneakers were untied. He was holding his arm awkwardly, and I could see that he was trying to hide a good deal of pain; his face twitched every now and then. I didn't need him to push up his sleeve to know that he was part of the "family" now. I had acted the same way when I was marked, except I had cried...a lot._

_"Sooo...I take it you're one of the real nuts in this place?" he asked._

_"No," I huffed, annoyed. I studied his face, but couldn't recall ever seeing him before. He had the sort of face that was pretty, but not so much that he looked like a girl. His dark brown eyes looked at me questioningly, and he raised a brow in amusement. He had shoulder-length dirty blonde hair, which he pushed away from his face._

_"What'd they uh, lock you up for then?"_

_Wriggling into a sitting position, I glared at him. "If you must know, I'm training to become a contortionist."_

_A spark of interest seemed to enter his eyes. "Can you do that...that pretzel thing?"_

_I shook my head. "I've only been doing this for a year."_

_His shoulders slumped in disappointment and he crossed his arms across his chest, wincing as the movement. He held me with an unwavering stare that sent a shiver down to my fingertips. After several much-too-long moments of awkward silence, I resumed my "training", which I'd begun to suspect was just a way for the master to ensure that I'd keep out of trouble._

_"You're not very good, are you?" he sneered after a while, disrupting my concentration. I'd thought that he had gone away by now. Fighting back a growl, I turned to look at him again._

_"I'm only twelve years old. How good __**should**__ I be?" He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly._

_"So, uh, little girl...what's your name?"_

_I glared at him for calling me that, but then thought that maybe he was just being mean because he was afraid. I know I was terrified when I first came here. Maybe all he needed was a friend; around here, you didn't want to be alone, especially if you were a little kid. It led to some very...painful results. "Velina," I said, smiling gently. He nodded his head, putting his hands in his pockets, and pushed himself away from the wall. He turned, slouching, and began to walk out of the truck. "Hey!" I called. He stopped, waiting for me to proceed. "What's your name?"_

_"Wouldn't you like to know!" he called over his shoulder, continuing on his way._

"What you want me to do with her, Boss?"

I was vaguely aware of voices from above. I also had the strange sensation that I had been flung over someone's rather lumpy shoulder, and that this someone absolutely reeked of tobacco. Cracking my eye open just slightly, I found myself looking at the floor along with the backs of a man's legs, and noticed with a grimace that his hand was placed a bit too comfortably on my rear end.

"Just dump her on the bed." At once, I was dropped, none too gently, onto a mattress.

"Ah, so that's why you brought her along, eh? But why _her_? I mean, have you taken a look at her..." At once, his voice trailed off into an uncomfortable silence.

"Her _what_?" There was a seething iciness in that question. "Her scars?" Then, I heard something hit the floor, and a sickening gurgle filled the room. "Shh...you'll wake Sleeping Beauty if you keep that up." He began to laugh and I heard the faint click of a lock. The next thing I knew, someone was slapping my cheeks. I opened my eye to see his face hovering only inches above mine.

"Oh ho ho, Sleeping Beauty awakes. And here I was just about to _kissss_ you." An unwelcome fluttering sensation filled my stomach as he laughed again. I couldn't tear my eyes away from those scars, and I couldn't deny their haunting familiarity.

Back at the tent, I had hoped that my mind was simply playing tricks on me. During the few days that we'd been in Gotham City, I'd heard rumors about a madman who looked like a clown and called himself "the Joker". At the time, I had been able to convince myself that the description was only a coincidence. But when I saw the scars, a sense of...well I'm not sure what it was, but it left me feeling all tingly. The way that he had spoken to my master only chased any remaining doubts from my head. He had remembered my master; did he remember me as well?

"You seem nervous. Is it the scars?" He leaned closer to me, licking his scars. "You wanna know how I got 'em?" Ah, so he didn't remember me. I already knew how he got those scars. Guilt flooded my insides as I remembered how he came to wear that Glasgow smile. I tried to figure out if it saddened me that he had forgotten me, and strangely, I realized that it did.

_"I'll come back for you, Lina, I promise."_

It meant that he hadn't come back for me, and that it'd been sheer luck that had dropped me into his hands. Luck...or misfortune?

I vigorously shook my head, whining quite pathetically.

"Well, I'll tell you anyway. You see, I had this...girlfriend, who-" he was cut off as my bare feet met his stomach, slamming him backwards. "Ohhh...I _like_ it rough!" he said, jumping back up. He jerked me up by my hair and slammed me into a wall, pressing the knife right against my neck and drawing a small rivulet of crimson. Casting a glance downward, I was horrified to see a corpse lying on the floor, no doubt the man who had been carrying me.

A muffled scream was all that I produced. "Oh shush shush shush, I'm not gonna hurt you," he cooed, feigning concern as he stroked my hair. "Of course, I really can'_t_ make any pa-romises. Just keep quiet, obviously like your, like your master intended." He tapped my mouth, gazing intently at the stitches keeping my lips together. "I must say, that's one way to shut a woman u_p_." And he laughed, caressing my cheek with the blade. "But seriously, Toots, let's keep the screaming to uh," his tongue darted out again to brush a scar, "a mi-ni-mum." He winked at me, sending shivers throughout my body. He cupped my cheek in his hand and the scent of leather assaulted my nostrils again. Gently, he ran a thumb across my cheekbone, just beneath my left eye, and then across my lips. A look of genuine concern flashed in his eyes, but then a cold grin slithered onto his face and he made a tsking noise of disapproval.

It was easy to see that he was interested in my appearance; he made no show to hide his curiosity. His gaze darted to every one of my visible scars, each one with its twisted Frankenstein like horror. Thread, that was what had been used to sew me up after my master had practically carved me, and it had never been removed. I had one stitched scar on my right cheek, another running down the other side of my face and neck, four in the chest area, six on my abdomen, nine on my back, twelve marring my arms and seventeen on my legs (yes, I had counted them), one on my left hand, two on my right, and one running down the length of my right foot. This was not to forget the stitches on my lips and the ones currently keeping my left eye shut.

I couldn't understand why he was so enthralled by my appearance; then again, I'd gotten these scars within the past few years. Even if he _did_ remember me--not remember me as in recognize me, but remember me as in recall that I had existed at one time--I doubted that anything about my current appearance would help him to connect me to my former self.

"Either...you're a masochist who had wa-hay too much fun...or you _really_ managed to get on ol' Richie's nerves." I averted my gaze, wishing he would stop looking at my horrible face. Suddenly, I felt a cold, sharp pain just beneath my eye, pricking, pulling at my skin and eyelid. A brief snap, and it began again, slow; I glanced up to see that he was making work of the stitches keeping my eye shut. Another snap, and a fraction of light entered the obscured half of my vision. An odd look of concentration had consumed his features, and the corners of his mouth curved upward in a dark smile. I wondered after the cause of this joy when about nine more snaps went off in rapid succession and I winced in response, my eye beginning to water. A soft chuckle escaped his lips at my reaction. Slowly, I opened my left eye, and everything went blurry for a moment, making the Joker's face seem frighteningly distorted. I blinked furiously, and clarity began to return to my vision; for the first time in months, I was seeing with both eyes.

I couldn't comprehend as to why he did such a thing; yes, it had stung a bit, but I much preferred to have full use of my vision. I considered such an act to be somewhat kind. As if reading my confusion, he said, "It's not as satisfying if I only see _half _the fear in your bea-u-ti-ful eyes." He ran the flat side of his knife down one of the scars on my face, making sure not to cut the thread that wove in and out of my skin. His lips then replaced the knife as he kissed the wound. Shivers wracked my body as he trailed quick, harsh kisses along my jaw line, and pressed his lips roughly against mine; his teeth found my bottom lip, and I winced as he flicked his tongue against the blood that sprung to the surface.

He caressed one of my breasts and I felt him smile against my lips. He pulled away, glanging down at my chest. "Well now, noooo bra." He looked at me, smacking his lips. "Any guy with minimal intelligence would know that a gal wearing _this_ kind of getup is just _asking_ for i_t_." He painfully grabbed one of my breasts and my next move was a natural reflex brought about from years of experience: I slapped him across the face. A growl emitted from his red-rimmed mouth as I felt a cold flash of pain just above my collarbone.

"There, there, we don't want any _a-cci-dents_." He pressed a gloved hand against the wound, making my entire shoulder burn. "So just, keep still, and uh...it'll be over befooore you know it." He cocked his head to the side as if in thought, and his tongue darted out to quickly caress his scars. "Then again...maybe it won't." A devilish smile crept onto his face and fresh howls of rang in my ears. This wasn't the man that I remembered, but somehow it didn't surprise me that this was what he had become. The last time I'd seen him, he'd been well on the road to...well, wherever he was now. But I didn't want to admit to myself that this man, this maniac, was the boy who had once been my only companion. I didn't want to face facts, accept that I had failed to save him from the madness that now consumed him. I had failed in saving both of us.

I was vaguely aware that my skirt was being pushed up as everything went dark.


	4. Nine in the Afternoon

**Thanks for reviewing, beatit. Just so everyone knows, my policy is one chappie=at least one review, hopefully more, or else I don't post anything further. I like to know that poeple are staying somewhat interested.**

Chapter 3: Nine in the Afternoon

I awoke to find myself staring at the boxy red numbers of a digital clock. It was 8:47 in the morning...or was it at night? Either way, the only illumination in the room came from a dim ceiling light that looked like it would burn out at any moment. I realized that my head was resting on a pillow; I was lying on the bed, and the sheets had been draped over me. I also noticed that I was naked, which was not the condition that I recalled being in when I blacked out, and my thighs ached in a way that was much too familiar for my taste. It struck me as being rather odd that the man who I assumed had raped me had been considerate enough to cover me while I slept. The faint sound of a shower reached my ears, and it took me several moments for me to comprehend that I was alone. When such a realization dawned on me, I wrapped the sheet around my body and leapt from the bed. To my dismay, the first doorknob my hands latched onto refused to turn. Truly, I shouldn't have been surprised. I rushed to the only other door, but stopped short when I registered that the pitter patter of water was loudest there.

Backing away from the door, I glanced around the room for any other means of escape. There was a window, but after trying to open it several times, I concluded that the locks were in perfect condition. When the sound of water abruptly came to an end, panic bubbled up inside my chest and left me momentarily frozen in place. But an idea formed in my frantic mind: if I stood in the corner of the room, when he opened the bathroom door and entered the bedroom, I would be temporarily hidden. Perhaps, and this was a weak perhaps, I would be able to catch him by surprise and knock him out; I wasn't completely clueless when it came to defending myself from those who I did not consider a "friend."

I held my breath as the doorknob jostled, and the door creaked open. I peeked around the edge of the door which now hid me from view. There he stood, his back towards me, dressed in purple trousers and an unbuttoned blue dress shirt, whose sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. Without a second thought, I sidestepped and lunged at my captor, but, of course, my plan didn't work. He whirled around and I practically flew into his outstretched arms. His bare hands latched onto my upper arms. "'Morning, Dollll fa_ce_," he said a bit too cheerfully, and I noticed for the first time that his teeth were a horrid yellow. He smiled, his scars puckering, and he tightened his grip on my arms until his nails painfully dug into my skin; I trashed and kicked at him, trying to break free. A drop of water landed on my shoulder and I looked to see that his hair was soaked, now a dirty blond color instead of the shade of green that it had previously been. His face also lacked the makeup that it had so boldly displayed last night. His face, I didn't want to look at his face. Averting my eyes, I found myself instead studying his body. His abdomen was taut with wiry muscle, his arms were--dare I admit it?--well toned.

"Now, what could you po-ssi-bly have thought would come of this? Hmm?" He shook me for emphasis, making me look back up at his face. He took a step forward, and I took one backward in response. "That you'd uh overpower me, and esca_p_e wearing nothing but a shee_t_?"

_"What did you think would happen, Lina? That you'd overpower him and escape wearing just your undies? Because that would've gone over sooo well when all those other dirt bags saw you like that."_

I flinched, cringing inwardly like the twelve-year-old I'd been the last time he'd said something like that. I felt stupid, naive, and terribly small. And then everything seemed funny, so ironically hilarious that I couldn't stop the little noises that came out through my nose. I was laughing, but I doubt that he could see that, considering that tears were now streaming down my cheeks. This was so twisted, so comical that I was crying and laughing at the same time. And the confusion that consumed his features only made me laugh and cry harder. How could he not understand why I would react in such a way to what he had done to me? Ah yes, he didn't remember who I was. He steered me over to the bed and pushed me down until I was sitting on the mattress. I didn't even try to get up, I wiped uselessly at my eyes that were still leaking salty droplets.

He stared down at me, crossing his arms over his bare chest. "You're an odd one. Usually it takes a threat or two before they break down into hysteri_cs_," he muttered. After squatting down until he was at my level, he placed a hand on my shoulder. "So, uh tell me, what's got you so _down_? I mean, I haven't even _done_ anything yet." By now, my giggling had come to an end, and I was full-out sobbing with my face in my hands, every cry wracking my body. My mind had reverted back to child mode, and the one thing I wanted more than anything else was to be held; I collapsed forward and crashed into him. He, of course, was unprepared for this and fell backwards onto the floor. I lay on top of him, trembling, with my arms wrapped around him. Maybe if I imagined things just right, I could convince myself that I was hugging a seventeen-year old boy who would comfort me and tell me that everything was going to be okay.

My heart leapt into my throat when I felt him gently stroke my hair. "Shh...there, there." His body was warm, if slightly damp, and I just wanted him to hold me. "C'mon, I'm sure it can't be _that_ bad." And the gears in my mind came to a screeching stop. No, this wasn't right. Why would he ask me what was wrong? Surely he already....I looked up to stare into the face of a man who had captured me, threatened me, injured me, raped me, and who now had the nerve to ask me what was wrong. But he wouldn't know, he couldn't _possibly_ know. I felt numb as a realization slithered throughout my body: this man was not my old friend.

When I failed to answer him, he stood up and placed me back on the bed, looking at me with impatience. "I uh, I asked you what's wrong." Silence. He licked his lips before turning away and walking towards a chair, where his coat was thrown over the back. Reaching into the article of clothing, he pulled out a knife. "Y'know I may not look like it, but I'm a man who, who just hates to _wait_. Oh, and ya know what I hate even more?" I slowly, shook my head, eyes growing wide. "No? Being ig-nored." He growled out that last word, sending shivers down my spine.

I only began to quiver beneath his gaze. Rolling his eyes, he pulled me up by my curls and slashed the knife across my mouth, slicing through the stitches and my lips as well. "Now talk!" he commanded. At first, I gaped at him dumbly, but then closed my mouth, wincing as my tongue drowned in the metallic taste of blood. I opened it, closed it again, continuing in this manner for several moments and looking like a fish. I muttered something in a soft, coarse voice that didn't sound like me. Then again, the only thing that really sounded like me anymore was silence.

He put a hand to his ear, leaning closer. "What? Didn't quite _catch_ that."

"J-Jack," I whispered, flinching as my lips stung when they moved. My voice still sounded alien in my ears.

"Ah, one more time?" His face had pure mirth scribbled all over it, and I clenched my hands into small fists as he smiled.

I stared up at him, my eyes welling up with tears again, my mouth twisting into a bloody snarl. "Jack!" I screamed, pouncing on him, knocking him to the ground. I slapped him across the face, scratching, clawing at whatever I could reach. "Give him back, you bastard!" His hand shot out to grab my wrist, and he twisted my arm behind me. He pulled it tighter, tighter until I felt a popping sensation, and my arm went limp. That was just great, because now I only had one working limb to defend myself with. I don't think he expected such a thing to happen, because a startled look passed over his face, and his grip loosened a bit. Taking advantage of his reaction, I kneed him in the groin before attempting to break free from him. He howled in what I assumed was pain...that is, until he started to laugh. He pulled me to him and kissed me on the lips, licking at my blood, before throwing me into a wall.

Shaking my head to clear my vision, I looked up to see him standing above me. "Oh, you are a card, little missy, I'll give ya that!" He pulled me off the ground by the nape of my neck until I was eye level with him. Holding up my useless arm, he then released it, watching it swing back and forth. "That's a neat little tri_ck_ you got there," he sneered, and I knew that something was amiss. "Wanna see one of my own?" He tightly grasped my arm just below my shoulder and jammed it back into the socket, laughing at the shriek of pain I gave.

"Please...stop, Jack," I gasped, breathing heavily.

His eyes flickered dangerously, but the change passed so quickly that I must have only imagined it. With a huff, he threw me onto the bed. Miraculously, the sheet was still wrapped around my body

"You...why do you keep saying tha_t_ _name_?" He hissed the word 'name' through clenched teeth.

Wearily, I propped myself up on my elbows. "It's...it's _your_ name...Jack." He flinched at the sound of the name as though it was a type of horrible disease.

"You knew me...sometime loooong ago...didn't you, Bea-u-tiful?" I nodded my head. "_How_ you know me is a mystery to me...'cause I haven't gone by that name in...I dunno _how_ many years." He wanted to know how I knew him. Well, I was completely willing to comply with his wishes.

"How _did_ you get those scars?" The tone of curiosity in my voice sickened me, but I wanted to play with him. If he was His lips curled into a morbid grin and he leapt onto the bed, kneeling over me and caressing my face with the edge of his knife. The glint of the blade instilled a deep fear inside of me; I knew how talented he was with the piece of metal. But I couldn't let that affect me at the moment, so I swallowed my apprehension along with the blood in my mouth.

"Weeeelll...if you _must_ know, my mother had some...anger issues-"

"Do you even remember how you got them?" He looked annoyed that I had interrupted him. "I bet you don't, what with all the stories you must tell your victims." He didn't continue his tale, but instead peered at me through squinted eyes, perhaps trying to decide where I was going with this. "Here, " I moved to sit up, bumping into him. He didn't attempt to get out of my way, instead he stared at me coldly and set his jaw. "I'll tell you how you _really_ got them," I whispered.

"Now _this_ should be interesting." He leaned back until he was sitting on the bed and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

Sitting up, I wiped a hand across my mouth, grimacing at the trail of blood that contrasted against my pale skin. I looked down at the bed and began to pick at the frayed edge of the sheet. "Ever since you were a little kid, you had wanted to be a clown because they made people happy, something that you were never able to make your parents. When you were fifteen, the circus came into your town, and when it left, you left with it." I stopped, glancing at him to discover that his entire body had gone rigid. I looked over at the clock to see that it was about nine o'clock in the morning...or the afternoon. Either way, it was time to play.

**What do you guys think?**


	5. Home

**Oh my god, all these reviews are making me sooo happy. I send out thanks you's and cookies to jc76wrotethis yooooo, Primavera Script, legolasfan91, The One And Only Charcoal, Not Human, and Sei Ai. If anyone has any constructive criticism, any advice, please, please don't hesitate to give it. And if I ever start making the Joker get OOC, someone please tell me! Cause, I was afraid I started to do that in the last chappie. **

**I know that I said this takes place a little bit before and during TDK, but I changed my mind and now chapter one technically begins the night after the bank robbery. **

**Anyhoodles, this post is a bit longer than the others, and I hope you guys don't hate the way I ended it...I put in a tiny little twist. **

Chapter 4: Home

"Your first day as a member of the Gaston Bros. Circus "family," you met a little girl, a contortionist-in-training. You thought she was kind of cute, but really nothing special. And your entire first year there, you constantly teased her, not enough to make her cry--well, not intentionally--but usually just enough to annoy her until she yelled at you or went off in a huff. But she always forgave you. She believed that there was some good in you and that you were just masking these deep fears and insecurities by being mean to her. And so she never stayed mad at you, and she was always nice to you. After a while, you noticed that she wasn't all smiles anymore, and she wasn't responding to your usual baiting. Now, you weren't friends with her, but you didn't like seeing her so glum, especially if you weren't the cause of it. So, you kept an eye on her, thinking that maybe someone else was giving her a hard time. A day or two went by, and nothing happened. You figured maybe it was happening at night, so you waited until she was asleep before you snuck into her room--well, the truck that she shared with some other girls--anyway, you hid yourself in a corner of the truck and just watched her until you fell asleep. When you woke up, she was gone."

I looked up at him. He licked his lips and growled, "Go on."

"You went looking for her, wandering all over the site, checking all the trucks. And then you passed by the ringmaster's RV, and you heard crying. You looked in a window, and there she was, lying on the pig's bed...with him on top of her. Again, you two weren't friends, but for some reason you couldn't stand to see someone else hurt her...especially not like that. So you practically broke the door down trying to get inside, and the ringmaster wasn't too happy about that.

_He was pushing harder, harder, and I couldn't stop the little cries that escaped from my mouth. It hurt so badly, burning, ripping, and the tears in my eyes were making it hard to see. A loud bang shook the RV and he immediately stopped._

_"Who's there?" he asked, moving to get off the bed._

_There he stood in the doorway, grasping the door frame with one hand, his knuckles white. In the other hand was a switchblade. He glanced towards the nightstand, where a half empty bottle of vodka rested. _

_"Get away from her," he growled, eyes burning with anger. _

"You had a knife, a switchblade that you always carried around with you in case you got in a sticky situation. You told him to get off of her, but he wasn't quite so willing to oblige. You attacked him, but sadly he was much bigger than you. After all, you were only fifteen, he was in his...late thirties?"

_"Now, now, my boy, don't you think you ought to be getting back to your truck?" Mr. Gaston stood, taking a step toward him._

_Jack leapt at him, knife poised to plunge into his stomach. But, Gaston caught his wrist, twisting it until the knife was dropped to the floor. Gaston grabbed him by his hair and pulled him up off the ground. Crying out of pain and rage, Jack lashed out at him and he managed to punch him in the face. Gaston staggered back a step, but kept a tight hold on him. _

_Jack looked at me and yelled, "Run, dammit!" Without a second thought, I grabbed my nightgown and panties and ran out of the RV. Once outside, I quickly dressed myself and peered through the window. I watched as Gaston threw him onto the bed and picked up the switchblade._

"You kept him busy just long enough for her to get away, but you weren't so lucky. He got that blade away from you and managed to stick it in your mouth, and then he did, "I gestured towards his face, "_that_ to you." I fixed him with a stony gaze.

_Gaston pinned him to the bed, holding the knife in front of his face. "You know what your problem is, Jack, m'boy? You're too serious. Out there in the ring, you don't smile enough. Your job is to make people laugh, and I'm just not finding your performance to be up to par." He inserted the blade in between his lips, pressing it up against the corner of his mouth. I could barely stop myself from screaming. "But don't worry, we'll fix that." My hands flew in front of my face on their own accord and I forced myself to peek through the spaces between my fingers when I heard Jack shout out. Gaston had pushed the knife into his cheek, and he was slicing deeper and deeper, curving the path of the blade so it looked like he had a bloody half smile. Then he started on the other side, more slowly this time. He kept cutting further into his cheek, and I wanted to turn and run to get help, but I was frozen in place. I couldn't tear my eyes away even though I wished that I could.._

"I think you know what happened after that." I clenched the edge of the sheet in my hands, twisting the fabric and imagining that I was wringing the bastard's neck.

"Why don't you tell me?" The mocking leer he wore dared me to go on, but I didn't think I could. The fury rushing through my body caught in my throat, and I could barely force the next three words out of my mouth.

"He raped you," I choked out.

_"Now you have the biggest smile of them all," Gaston said proudly, throwing the knife to the floor, and slapping at his bloody cheeks. Jack cried out in pain, and I couldn't fathom how he managed to barely make a sound when his face was being carved. Gaston reached for his pants, undoing the button and sliding them down his slender hips along with his underwear. "And since I lost my evening entertainment, you'll be replacing her." Gaston flipped him over onto his stomach and with one swift move, he jammed himself inside of him over and over again, like he had done to me many times before. And I just stood there and watched._

I stared at him, fighting back the guilt that rose in my throat like putrid bile. I gave him those scars, I might as well have been holding the knife myself. His eyes had the strangest appearance to them, almost like they were glossy. No, he wasn't crying...was he? He shook his head and gave a low chuckle.

"Now, little missy, _that_ is a story. But tell me, what makes yours," he licked his lips, "the uh "true" one?"

I swallowed any fears I had about telling him who I was. After all, it couldn't worsen my predicament. "I have had several names during my time in show biz. Up until just recently, I was The Living Rag Doll. Before that I was Little Miss Twisted...and before that I was Jester...but before all of those, I was just Velina." I folded my arms across my chest and looked him square in the eye, waiting for my words to hopefully sink in.

And then I received a reaction that I had not been expecting...but then again, I don't think I had any idea of what I _should_ expect. First, he stared at me with a tender gaze, and a tiny smile graced his face. Surprisingly, it wasn't a cruel or mocking smile...just a smile. Then his brow furrowed and it seemed as though his jaw was quivering; when he bowed his head, his face hidden behind a curtain of damp hair, I thought that I had upset him. His shoulders began to shake and he made several low, throaty sounds. Fearing that something was wrong, I tentatively reached forward with the intention of placing my hand on his shoulder. But before I could do so, the sounds became louder, and I realized that only a fresh bout of giggles had taken hold of him. He burst into uproarious laughter, slapping his palms against his legs and shaking his head like a dog, showering me with droplets of water. When he was able to catch his breath, he looked up and wiped at the tears that had begun to form in his eyes. "Oh, you..." he pointed at me, waggling his finger teasingly, "_you_ almost had me. But there's one _tiiiiny_ flaw to your story, my dear. You see, _my_ Lina," is tongue darted out again, "was a blond...with brown eyes...and pin_k_ cheeks..." He trailed off, gazing wistfully at nothing in particular. "And sheeee didn't showcase an entire ribcage." He winked, licking his lips. "So, you see, therein lies the uh problem with your little tale."

I subconsciously rested a hand against my stomach, feeling the bones that just slightly poked out from beneath my skin. Yes, what he described was my old appearance, but we had anticipated that we might change by the time he came back for me. I glanced down at the palm of my hand, where the letter J had been branded with a nail and a lighter. I knew that the same thing was etched into his shoulder.

"But you don't deny that what I said it true."

He waved a hand around casually. "I said that I knew a Lina...but the rest of your tale is pure fiction, untrue, com-po-letely false."

I contemplated my next words carefully lest they come out the wrong way. But no matter how many ways I worded the request in my head, it still sounded...odd, so I settled for the blunt approach. "Take off your shirt." Yep, it definitely sounded odd.

He eyed me curiously, twirling the knife in his hand. "And why oh why should I do that?"

"Because...on your shoulder is a little symbol that proves every word I've said to be true...and proves you to be a liar."

The knife froze in the middle of a twirl and his entire body went rigid. He didn't say anything, but simply stared at me with dark fire blazing in his eyes. Right away, I knew that I had said the wrong thing. He advanced on me, teasing just above my breast with the tip of his blade. The cold flash as it pierced my skin made me wince. "I. Am. No_t_. A. Liar." He dug a little deeper with the knife. "Got i_t_?" I quickly nodded my head, briefly aware that fear must have been radiating through every one of my pores. "Good." He pushed the knife in deeper still, giving it a twist. A short cry slipped through my lips and he smiled darkly before removing the blade and wiping it on the sheet.

"I would loooove to stay here and play games with you, really I would...but uh_ now_ isn't the best time." Standing up, he rolled his sleeves down and buttoned his shirt. Adjusting his collar, he walked back into the bathroom. Several minutes passed by, in which I resumed my abuse of the sheet's edge. I scanned the room, taking note that my costume was nowhere to be seen. I couldn't be sure whether this relieved or unnerved me, for I hated that shameful rag, but I wasn't looking forward to spending the rest of my time there wrapped up the way I was.

Coming out of the bathroom, he was now straightening a tie and wearing a green and silver vest. I noticed with a grimace that his face was covered in makeup once more, and his hair had that same green coloring to it. He walked, slouching, over to the chair where his coat lie. He shrugged into the article of clothing, took out a pair of leather gloves, and pulled those on as well, flexing his fingers. He looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

"So? What d'ya think?" He turned in a circle, giving me a 360 degree view of his...familiar attire.

So many words were on the tip of my tongue. I almost settled on "dashing", but the one that made its way out of my mouth was, "Intimidating." As an afterthought, I added, "You have wonderful taste." More like _I_ had wonderful taste. That was _my _color scheme! _My_ design! Well, close to it. I clenched my teeth as he smiled in satisfaction. He strolled over to the door, taking a key out of one of the many pockets in his coat. Well, I assumed that it had many pockets, considering that _that_ had been my idea as well. Inserting the key into the doorknob, he jostled it for a few seconds and opened the door.

"Oh, and I left a little something for you in there," he jerked his head towards the bathroom, "in case you felt like uh fre_sh_ening up a bi_t_." He looked me up and down. "Trust me, you're gonna want to." He smacked his lips and laughed as he put the key back in his coat after messing with the lock again.

"Where are you going?"

"Off to rrrustle a few mobster feathers. Don't wait up!" With that, he slammed the door behind him, leaving me quite alone again. I didn't have to check to know that the door was locked.

_When he was finished, he pushed Jack back onto the bed. "Get up," he growled. Jack weakly tried to move, but it wasn't good enough. Gaston roughly pulled his pants back up and hauled him up by the collar. He dragged him towards the door and I quickly ran around the side of the RV to hide. I heard the door open and then a loud thump. Peeking around the corner, I saw him lying there on the ground, face down in the dirt. Once I made sure that the door was closed, I ran to his side and rolled him onto his back. He gave a small cough and groaned faintly. I lifted his torso up off the ground, positioned myself behind him, and hooked my arms around him, clasping my hands over his stomach. He grunted and tried to wriggle out of my grasp._

_"Jack...Jack it's me," I whispered. He stopped moving and I began walking backwards toward my truck, dragging him along. It took a while, considering I was definitely smaller than him, but I managed to get him inside and onto my bedroll. I sat him up against the side of the truck and went to get a rag out of my case. I wet it in the basin that I shared with the rest of the girls that slept in there and hurried back over to him. His eyes were closed, and his face was a pasty color, greatly contrasting against the blood that ran down his cheeks, chin, and neck. Kneeling beside him, I softly shook his shoulder. He opened his eyes just slightly. I gently pressed the cloth against one of the gashes, and his eyes shot open. He gave a low moan and shoved me away. But, I was persistent. After several more tries and shoves, I decided to put the cloth in his own hand. I looked at him pointedly. He rolled his half-closed eyes and pressed the cloth against the other wound, wincing at the contact. He gave me a look that seemed so say, "Happy now, you little twit?" I didn't smile, I couldn't. _

_Instead, I rushed back over to my case and fumbled around through its contents, searching for my sewing kit. When I found it, I brought it over to Jack. Kneeling beside him, I brought out a needle and a spool of thread. After threading the needle, I looked up to see that his eyes were half-lidded, and I nudged him gently. One eye rolled to regard me, and I held up the needle._

"_I have to close it," I whispered. He seemed hesitant to reply, and I had an inkling that he was somewhat afraid. Then, he slowly nodded his head and brought the rag away from his face. Red rivers still ran down his cheeks, and I felt like I was about to puke. My hand shook as I brought the needle up to the wound; I was so terrified that I was going to hurt him. Then, his hand wrapped its fingers around mine and steadied it. I brought the tip of the needle against his skin and told myself just to imagine that I was stitching up a piece of clothing. Taking a deep breath, I pierced his cheek. At once, he moaned in pain, but I continued to complete the first stitch. My hands began to shake again as I brought the needle it in and out, trying my best to ignore his tortured groans through gritted teeth and his blood dripping on my hand and arms._

_Once one side was finished, I knotted the thread and allowed him to rest for a moment before starting on the other half. Tears were streaming down his face, and I muttered apologies through the entire process, for I knew that my trembling hands were doing nothing to help. But I forced myself to not cry; I had to be brave while I stitched a permanent smile onto the one person I cared about. When it was over, I dabbed the already bloody rag along the lines of sutures and wiped his face and my hands off. I put my arms around him, silently saying, "I'm sorry, please forgive me." My heart leapt in my throat when he awkwardly put an arm around me. Then, only then did I let myself cry. I don't know how long we stayed like that, but I clung to him until sleep kissed my eyes._

If it hadn't been for me, he never would have gotten those scars and he never would have changed into the man that he currently was. I was the force that set the wheels in motion; it was that night that began the rest of our lives.

While I was wary about the fact that he had left me "something" in the bathroom, the prospect of washing up was appealing. So, I stood up and cautiously made my way into the other room, coming to a stop in front of the mirror. To say that my appearance shocked me would be an understatement. My face was...a wreck. Below my eye was speckled with dried blood, and the remnants of thread were still there, as did they remain in my eyelid. My lips and the area surrounding them were smudged with red and white greasepaint, as well as dried blood. Both of my lips were split, and the thread remained there as well. The corners of my mouth were cut, still bleeding a bit. When I opened my mouth, the color of my teeth frightened me. They weren't as bad as the Joker's, but after not brushing them for about two years they weren't a pretty sight. A nice bruise graced my forehead, disappearing up into my hair. Several of my copper curls had escaped from their prison of hair spray and bobby pins, and now some tendrils were still loosely pinned up while others fell down my back. There was a small cut on my neck and a larger one above my collarbone. The sight of the fresh, bleeding, stab wound on my chest made me grimace.

Forcing myself to look away from my disheveled reflection, I turned the shower knobs and waited for the water to warm up. I removed any remaining bobby pins from my hair. After shedding the sheet from my sore figure, I looked down at my body to inspected the damage; I was quite surprised with what I found. The was a small smudge of red on my stomach and one dark bruise blotched across my left hip, but these things weren't what caught my attention. A serious of bruises marred my inner thighs, and I had a few small cuts located just centimeters away from my womanhood. Marks like that didn't come about unless they were inflicted on purpose.

I stepped into the shower, sighing as the warm water cascaded down my body, but soon gritting my teeth as every cut burned anew. My chest stung the most, but I willed myself to ignore it, focusing on more important matters. A wash cloth hung over the shower head, which I immediately grabbed and set to work with. Reaching down, I swept a corner of the rag inside of myself, anticipating the pain that never came. Puzzled, I removed the cloth and inspected it. Not one bit of blood was on that piece of fabric, not _one_. He never raped me...but he had obviously made sure that it felt like he had. That bastard wanted me to think that he raped me! But why?

As I tried to understand the logic behind his actions, I found myself laughing softly. With relief flowing through my veins and the stinging sensation beginning to numb away, somehow...I found myself smiling. I scrubbed my face until it was raw...and laughed. I filled my bleeding mouth with water and washed away the bile...and laughed. I ran my fingers through my unruly tangles...and laughed. I laughed and smiled until my cheeks hurt and I was crying tears of mirth. I wasn't sure why I laughed so much, but maybe it was because I knew then that there was still some amount of humanity left in Jack...in the Joker. He hadn't violated me, at least not to the greatest degree that he could have, and that left me standing there with some hope clinging to my bleeding bosom.

Once I found my condition to be satisfactory, I turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. I wondered if my face looked any better, but I couldn't tell considering that the mirror was completely fogged up. I had left the bedroom door open, and the cold air from the room was seeping into the bathroom, making me shiver. So, I decided to find a towel. A small cupboard was situated over the toilet, and I opened it to find a towel lying on the bottom shelf. I wrapped the towel around me as my eyes came to linger on the shelf above it. A neatly folded piece of fabric, colored purple and green, rested on that shelf. I gingerly took it down and saw a joker card lying on top of it. Picking up the card, I noticed something written on the back in a messy scrawl:

_Welcome home, Jester._


	6. Eyes of the Devil

**Again, I must thank all of you guys who reviewed. Torasa, The One And Only Charcoal, Not Human, Arugula Pacioli, EternalBlueRainbow, BlackRoseVine, and CarlyJo, thank you so much! Hugs for all my readers, because without you...well there really would be no story.**

**I apologize for taking so long to get this chapter out. School just decided to attempt to murder me with an overabundance of homework and whatnot. I've edited this thing I don't know HOW many times, but something still feels off about it, and I'm not exactly sure what. Oh wellz, maybe you guys can figure it out...if there really is something there, or not there, depending on whether its a surplus or lack of something that it the problem. Ok, I'm gonna shut up now, so enjoy!**

Chapter 5: Eyes of the Devil

I stared at the fabric clutched in my hands, contemplating as to whether or not I should attempt to put it on. A stretchy material had been a must when we designed the costume; I hadn't grown terribly height wise and as far as I knew, I was thinner than I'd been back then. I stepped into the purple leotard, pulling the silky material up my body and feeling the short green skirt brush against my legs. I passed my arms through the draping green sleeves and slipped each of my middle fingers through a ring connected to the end of each one. As I raised my arms, the rings prevented the sleeves from sliding down my limbs. It didn't fit quite as well as it used to, but that was expected. Sitting back down on the bed, I only felt half complete, due to the absence of the green and purple striped stockings that once graced my legs. Still, I felt the same rush that used to overtake me back when I enjoyed performing...back when we were the fantastic duo of Joker and Jester. All I needed was my makeup and purple hair spray and I'd be complete, a sad imitation of the girl I used to be.

I'd wondered where my old costume had disappeared to. When he left all those years ago, it had suspiciously vanished as well. I couldn't even begin to try and understand why he took it with him. After all, he'd taken hardly any of his own possessions with him; it was odd that he'd take something of mine. And I found it even stranger that he was wearing a slightly altered version of his own show clothes. I would've thought that he'd want to leave everything behind that reminded him of his old life.

I took the towel and began to vigorously dry my hair, wincing as I rubbed against a bruise. Eyeing the joker card that now lay on the bed, I thought about the short message that spoke volumes. He hadn't brought my costume into the bathroom when he went to finish getting ready, so that meant that it had been there before I woke up, before I told him who I was. I doubted that he would have let any random hostage wear my outfit, and even if he did...he could have written any name on the card. He could have written Doll or Beautiful or any of the names that I told him. But he used "Jester," the nickname that he used to call me by. He'd come up with that as my stage name, and it just sort of stuck.

He must have known who I was before I told him. But then...why would he have treated me so brutally? At that moment I had to remind myself that he wasn't the same person anymore. Maybe he didn't care. Maybe he was punishing me for what I did to him all those years ago. Yes, I did it, I scarred him forever. And what with the whole "rape" facade? It reminded of what he used to do to me. In the final year of our time together, he'd grown more cynical and dangerous. If an argument went too far, he'd resort to physical methods of persuasion to make me realize that he was right. He always had a knack of making it feel or look worse than it really was, I guess it was his way of messing with me mentally as well. One time when he twisted my wrist he cracked his neck at just the right moment, and the sound and pain convinced me that he'd broken it; it only turned out to be sprained. Perhaps this was a similar scenario. I couldn't be sure. Whether it was or not, it didn't mean that he did it because he discovered that I was his hostage. For all I knew, he could've done similar things to other victims.

I contemplated the other half of the message: welcome home. Did that mean that he intended for me to stay? Well, he destroyed the only place I'd really ever known, so I was either going to stay here or begin a new life on the streets of Gotham City. The second option was quite unappealing to say the least. "Welcome back" could have easily sufficed, but he wrote "home." Home...such a thing sounded foreign to me. Those years that we spent together were the only ones during which I felt like I was home. I concluded that it wasn't best to dwell upon such ponderings. He would tell me what he planned to do with me when he felt like it.

Suddenly I felt rather restless and realized that I'd been furling and unfurling my hands for the past few minutes. It felt odd that I wasn't practicing my routine or at least doing my daily exercises. But why wasn't I? I couldn't figure out an answer to that, so I tossed the towel to the side, sat down on the floor, and began my warm-up stretches. Before I knew it, I was twisting myself in just about every position I'd ever learned...and I was enjoying it. I imagined that he was right there beside me, either jeering or smiling. I was so caught up in my activities that I failed to hear the door creak open. It was only when I was standing on my hands while doing the splits that I heard a slow clapping behind me. Surprised, I came crashing down on the floor and turned to face my audience.

There he stood, leaning against the door frame, with a smug look on his face as he clapped his hands, his gloves slightly muffling the sound. I hastily stood up, smoothing my leotard.

"Well, well, well..._somebody_ has been _prac_-ticing."

I felt a blush creep into my cheeks and inwardly cringed at my show of emotions. I didn't want his praise, or compliments, or anything that could possibly make me smile. I was angry with him at the moment, and I wished to stay that way.

He smiled, his scars puckering, and pointed at my face. "Ah, theeeeres those pin_k _chee_k_s."

At once, my anger melted away and formed a puddle on the floor. Clasping my hands together, I lifted my gaze to meet his own. "Y-you knew?"

"How could I _not_? Not every fle-xi-ble little lady has this," and he grabbed my hand, palm side up, "ba-ran­_d_." He looked up at the ceiling and noisily smacked his lips. "Besides, "left shoulder" was something _I taught_ you." I couldn't help but scoff at that, because dislocating my shoulder in a fit of anger _really_ made him my teacher. I looked to see that he was still holding my hand; my forehead began to feel warm.

"When did you know?"

He cocked his head to the side and sucked in his cheeks. "Eh, last night."

A sudden rage burned my insides and I yanked my hand out of his grasp before slapping him hard across the face. "Vous âne stupide! Vous, vous avez su? Et vous, comment avez osé vous? Vous malade, fou bâtard! Je veux que vous brûliez dans l'enfer, vous foutu démon! Vous condamner, Joker!" I screamed, clutching at my chest and wincing as my nails dug into the raw flesh.

The foolishness of my words hit me all too late. He never _had_ been too fond of people calling him crazy, after all. I was shoved against a wall with a hand around my throat and a knife pressed against my cheek before my mind could even process what was going on. His hot breath rolled over my face in waves that made me shudder. I squeezed my eyes shut in order to hide from his rage. My method didn't work; it still found me.

"Look at me," he whispered in my ear. I instinctively recoiled from his grating tone. I felt the cold steel bite into my skin as the grip around my windpipe grew tighter. Something warm trickled down my face. "_Look at me!_" he growled. Tentatively, I complied as shivers wracked my body. His grin leered before my eyes. "Now smile," he commanded in a sickeningly sweet voice. When I didn't do so at first, his knife dug in deeper; I clenched my teeth against a cry that threatened to escape, and I curved my lips into a horribly phony grin. Thankfully, he seemed satisfied, as his smile grew wider. And in those few actions, my question had found its answer. It didn't matter who I was, or who we used to be. The past was the past. All that mattered was that this was now, and he could do whatever he wanted to do to me, because that's who _he_ was. If he wanted to be nice, he would be nice. If he wanted to hurt me, he would hurt me. There was nothing that I could do, no invisible power that I held in his domain. The past chained us together, but at the moment that he chose, that bond would break. And if it stayed intact, well he just didn't have to acknowledge that it was there at all. Because that's who he was.

He watched as my thoughts ran across my eyes, as realization and surrender overtook me. "You get it now?" he whispered. I nodded, afraid of what might come out if I attempted to speak. "Goo_d_, because you're _mine_, my little Jessss_ter_." He released my throat and withdrew the blade, patting my cheeks playfully. Turning away, he walked towards a desk in the corner of the room, casually tossing his knife from hand to hand.

He set the blade carefully on the desk and proceeded to remove his jacket, draping over the back of a chair. "So, my little Croissant, I'm a demon, eh?"

Bringing a hand up to my throat, I let out a shaky cough. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." I tentatively pressed my fingertips against my cheek, wincing at the slight pressure. The pads of my fingers were stained crimson when I pulled them away.

He sat down on the desk, resting a foot on the chair; he picked up his knife and continued to pass it nonchalantly from hand to hand. "Coarse ya did. That's why you said it. It's only, uh, it's only human nature, _after all._ And when one begins sca-reaming in their native _t_ongue, you know that they mean _every_ word they're saying." But I didn't mean it, I was only angry. He gave a half smile in return to my crestfallen expression. "But don't, uh, don't worry. I'm just _flattered_ that you chose to insult me in such a bea-u-ti-ful language, truly I am." I couldn't tell if he was being just a bit serious or if he was going to start teasing me because I was a "Frenchie" like he used to. Speaking only French for the first eight years of my life and living in that wretched country deemed me a "Frenchie" in his eyes and he always loved pushing me to the point where I started yelling at him in my native tongue. I was once very creative in my choice of words, but then one day he decided to ask the elephant trainer, who was a Frenchman, what several of my phrases meant. We weren't quite yet friends at that time, and I remember that was the day that I learned "left shoulder."

I crossed my arms and turned away from him. "Why didn't you tell me?"

The next thing I knew, he was ruffling my hair in an almost affectionate manner, like one would pet a dog, and laughing. "Now where would be the fun in _that_? I liked wa_tch_ing you squirm." It unnerved me how quickly his moods changed. One minute he was happily teasing me, and the next...he was holding a knife to my throat in a murderous rage. He reminded me of an ocean, constantly churning beneath the surface, waves violently rising and falling without notice. He was the ocean, and I the doomed little rowboat caught in the tempest. I wondered what my fate would be. Would I spring a leak and slowly sink into the clutches of his cold madness? Would I miraculously be deposited on the shore after a long and tiresome battle, damaged but alive? Or would I crash against the jagged rocks when he finally tired of my presence? Sharp rocks reminded me of his knife. I couldn't suppress a shiver that consumed my body.

"Are you coooold, my dear?" He grasped my hand again and lifted my arm above my head. He began to walk around me, inspecting me from all angles. "I must admi_t_, it doesn't fit as well as it uh, used to." He stopped in front of me. "But that's all right. We need a _new_ look for the _new_ you, Dolllll." Releasing my hand, he walked back over toward the desk. He opened and closed several drawers before finding whatever he'd been searching for. I failed to see what he plucked out of the drawer.

Returning to stand in front of me, he held out his hand, on which two rubber bands sat. "Put them on," he ordered, smiling crookedly. When I looked at him, puzzled, he rolled his eyes. He grabbed a lock of my slightly damp hair and tugged..._hard_. A light bulb went off in my head as I eagerly snatched the rubber bands out of his hand. I put up half of my hair in one rubber band, and then proceeded to do the same thing with the other. Sporting two childish pigtails, I put my hands on my hips indignantly.

"Yesss," he remarked, clasping his hands together thoughtfully. "I always _did_ like that style for you. I'd ask you to complete the en-sem-ble, bu_t_...I don't have the ne-ce-sssary uh..._colors._" He was referring to my makeup: white foundation, black eyeliner and shadow, and purple lipstick. "One thing that must change is the obvious lack of shoes...and support." His gaze lingered on my bosom, and I glared at him. "You won't be expected to ta-wist that pretty little body of yours, so I'm thin_king_..._corset_."

He had completely lost me at that moment.

"For what?" I asked, trying to understand the point of a new outfit.

"Why, haven't you heard? Every successful man has a woman behind him. And I must admit that I am severely lacking in the, uh, the woman de_part_men_t_...thought I can't even _begin_ to imagine _why_."

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "So you want me to be your woman?"

He threw his head back and laughed wholeheartedly. "Of course not! You see, I am the exception to the rule: _quite_ successful, and happily single. Bu_t_, I wouldn't mind having my little _assistant_ back. Besides, if I'm keeping a, uh, girl around, and not for ransom, people will think I'm going soft. I'm sure they wouldn't mind if I gained an accomplice, though. Besides, blowing stuff up isn't _half_ as satisfying without someone to truly appreciate it with." I bit my lip as I thought about his simple proposal. If I said yes, I would be taking the first step into his madness. I would be surrendering myself to his every little whim, and I would be his to mold into whatever shape he desired. Then again, he might not even have accepted no for an answer.

He held out his hand, looking at me with curiosity and...something else. What was it? "So...what'll it be, eh? Will you be my Jester, for old time's sa_ke_?"

Hmm…decisions, decisions. I could say yes, or I could say yes. How could I say no when I was staring into the eyes of the devil? Because that's who he was, and he was going to pull me down into Hell with him.

**French section = You stupid ass! You, you knew? And you, how could you? You sick, crazy bastard! I want you to burn in hell, you fucking demon! Damn you, Joker!**


	7. Sleep

**Okie dokie, finally I got this chappie out. Arugula Pacioli, hotbritt5000, sugar coated bullets, and Not Human, thank you for your wonderful reviews! They never cease to make me smile :)**

Chapter 6: Sleep

"Well…"

"Great, woooonderful," he said abruptly, standing up straight…well, his kind of straight, which included a slight hunch to his shoulders. "Now that that's out of the way," he clapped his hands together, "let's get down to...business."

I sucked in my cheeks and rolled my eyes up toward the ceiling, tapping my fingers against my thigh. After several moments of contemplating just how much I hated to be interrupted, I looked to see that he was taking out some papers from the desk.

"Wait." He turned to face me, wearing an expectant expression, eyebrows raised. "Before I do anything with you, you're going to answer a question."

A cocky little smile plaster itself across his face. "Oh, I am? And what if I don't feel…obligated to do so?"

"Then I find a way out of here and tell the police where you are." I placed my hands on my hips, my face set with determination.

"And if I don't want you tattling on me?" He set the papers down and walked toward me, pulling his knife out of his pants pocket and flipping out the blade. "There are pa-lenty of ways to keep you silen_t_." He slipped the blade between my lips, pressing it just slightly into the corner of my mouth.

I forced my face to become a blank canvas, lest any expression betray the fear bubbling up within me. "If you wanted me to remain silent, you wouldn't have opened my mouth." I spoke carefully, moving my lips so that I wouldn't cut myself. He squinted his eyes, perhaps trying to find the anxiety that I was so desperately attempting to hide. He let out a growl of dissatisfaction before retracting the blade and turning away.

"What do you want to know?"

"When you came to the show, did you really come for me?" He turned to look at me, and the flash of hesitancy that played across his painted face as he licked his lips made my heart sink. I completely regretted asking him.

"Well…" he slipped the blade back into his pocket. "I saw a poster advertising the oh-so-wonderful Gaston Bros. Circus. When I first uh, scoped out the scene, I _was_ hoping to see you…but I didn't. That night, I was only there to pay a small, _teensy weensy_ visit. I hadn't intended on bringing home a souvenir."

I lowered my gaze to the floor and nodded my head thoughtfully, processing his answer. So, he'd kept his word. That was all I'd wanted.

"All right." I kept my eyes focused on the unpolished hardwood beneath my feet, taking in the swirling patterns with vague disinterest. That was how I felt at the moment…swirly, like everything was mixing together inside of me. Nausea rippled in my stomach, but I swallowed it away. I looked up to see that he had returned his attention to the papers, which were now spread across the desk's surface. Slow steps brought me to stand by his side. He mumbled incoherent whispers, his lips barely moving, as he intensely stared at the layout on the desk. The papers had all displayed some sort of picture, and when put together they formed what looked like a blueprint.

"So…What're you planning?"

He sighed, his shoulders slumped even more, and he glared at me out of the corner of his eye. "First of all, Sweets, I don't _plan_ things…I just _do_ them. Sure, there's some uh, pre-_par_-ations here and there…but I just like to go…with the _flow_."

I rolled my eyes. If he was anything, he was one of the greatest schemers I'd ever known.

"And second, my little doll face, I like _silence_ when I'm uh…"

"Working?"

He waved his hand in an annoyed fashion. "No, that's such a...such a _wrong_ way of putting it. I prefer…preparing for some...some _fun_." And he turned to me with that grin, his scars contorting. "You like having fun, don't you, Jessster?" I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded slowly, keeping my gaze locked with his. His smile stretched even wider. "That's my girl." He went back to his blueprints without another word. Obviously, our conversation had ended.

He was right…I _was_ his girl. I'd been his girl ever since that night…when he became my savior. Oddly, getting his face carved was what it took to make us friends. He never held his misfortune against me, never told me that it was my fault that people shied away when they saw his face. In fact, on one occasion, near the end of our time together, he thanked me. He was drunk, of course; we were celebrating his eighteenth birthday together and he'd stolen a bottle of the master's finest brandy.

"_Y'know, I never thanked yeh for giving me this." He traced a finger along his Glasgow smile. "Lot's o' people are ugly on the inside…and they hide it with their looks, makin' themselves appear all spiffy. It's the pretties that are the evil ones. 'Cept you," he stroked the side of my face gently, "…yer pretty, but yer still good all over. An' now…everyone can see my insides." He clapped a hand over my mouth, stopping the protest I'd been about to form. "No, no I mean it. I'm a ugly son of a bitch on the inside, yer jus' too stupid to see it. But now, now they can all see what they're gettin' before they get it. I'm not a liar…no sir."_

It broke my heart when he said that to me, even though I'd been more than slightly buzzed when he said it. He was the kindest person I'd ever known. At least, he was around _me_. True, he sometimes hurt me, but he made sure that he was the only one who ever did. I became the little porcelain doll, and he became the owner that protected me to the best of his ability. I was his girl, and he wasn't my anything…except my everything.

Now…now what was he? I was still his girl, but I didn't know who _he_ was anymore. When I looked at him I saw the boy who used to hold me at night, but I also saw a stranger. I almost felt like I should have held out my hand and said, "Hi, my name's Velina, what's yours?" It was like I was meeting him for the first time, yet at the same time I'd known him for years. I watched as he traced the designs with his fingertips, pointing at certain areas, still muttering to himself.

Turning away from him, I walked over to the bed and sat down. My hands subconsciously began to twist the frayed edge of the blanket. I nibbled my bottom lip and the small pieces of string caught my attention. Carefully, I pulled them out of my skin one by one until my mouth was free of the restraining fibers. I stared at the small pile of string in my cupped hands before letting the pieces flutter to the floor. A sigh was on the tip of my tongue when a large pad of paper slammed against my head, soon followed by a pencil.

He laughed amusedly as I rubbed my head. "Why don't you uh, make yourself _useful_ and start ske_tch_ing?" I looked at the pad of paper dumbly for a moment. "Like I said, a corset and footwear...boots spe-ci-fi-cally. Oh, and keep with the color scheeeme. Other than tha_t_, you can create to your, your little heart's conten_t_."

With a scowl playing across my lips, I found a comfortable position on my stomach and pressed the pencil's eraser against my forehead as I began to brainstorm. He giggled softly, and I glared at him.

Over the next hour…or three – I wasn't keeping track – I went to work sketching various designs, labeling each part with the color it would be and the fabric needed to construct it. My mother had been a very talented seamstress, and I'd always enjoyed watching her work, learning whatever I could. I had wanted to take over the family business one day, but that dream was snuffed out when I was taken to America. I went from being a seamstress's assistant living in the slums of Rouen, to a performer in one of the most famous European circuses in America. And now after everything I'd gone through, I was an accomplice to a villain in Gotham City. For some reason I hadn't expected my life to turn down this road.

I'd let my gaze flicker up every now and then, watching Jack…the Joker…I didn't know what to call him. To me, he'd always be Jack; but now, that name just didn't seem to fit anymore. At the same time I couldn't bring myself to call him Joker. I told myself that I'd figure it out later as I watched him leave his seat at the desk and enter the washroom, closing the door behind him. Obviously, the door wasn't too thick, as I soon heard the tinkling sound of piss streaming into a toilet. I groaned and tossed the sketchpad off to the side as I buried my head beneath a pillow.

A flushing noise found me and I pressed the feathery thing against my ears as the door opened. Without warning, two hands wrapped around my ankles and yanked me off of the bed. My face smacked against the floor as did the rest of my body, and I groaned again as I tentatively placed a hand against my throbbing forehead. Turning over, I looked up at him through squinted eyes.

"Did I tell you that you could uh, _lie_ down on the job, hmm?" The way he was smiling made it obvious that he was trying to not laugh at his _wonderful_ pun. Nontheless, small giggles still escaped from his red lips.

"What job?" As far as I knew, I had not been assigned to any particular _job_.

He sighed and rolled his eyes as though I were the stupidest living thing on the planet. "The uh, _job_ of designing your a_tt_ire."

"I finished," I muttered, allowing myself to lie down on the floor again.

"Is that so?" His serpentine tongue darted out for a moment. "Well then let's just take a look-see, shaaaall we?"

He hopped onto the bed like a child and snatched up the pad. He flipped through the sketches slowly, nodding or frowning at times and making remarks on each one.

"Too serious …almost no purple…too much coverage…not _enough_ coverage…too 60's…now that just looks plain wrong…capes are sooooo done…aha!" Standing up, I saw that he was looking at one drawing with such fervor. He turned the pad towards me and said, "This, this is nice. I _like_ this."

"There's still a few after that." Actually, he'd only gotten halfway through them.

"I don't care."

"But what if —"

He grabbed me by my hair and pulled me right up in front of him. "I. Li_k_e. Thi_s_." The severity in his voice told me that another disagreement would not end well for me, so I kept my mouth shut. "You see, when I like something, I stick with it. Yeah, there's the argument: what if there's something better? Well, if I don't _know_ about it, then it isn't _there_, and therefore it isn't _better_, got _it_?" I nodded my head. "Goo_d_." He licked his lips as he smiled.

I made a note to myself: don't argue with him over something that makes him happy; things will not end well.

My locks received another tug before he released me. In spite of my better sense, I swiped at his hand. In a flash, he had me pinned to the bed with a hand on both my wrists and the other on my stomach.

"That was _not_ very nice, nor was it ne-ce-_ssssary_." His tongue brushed the edge of a scar.

"Neither was pulling my hair," I growled.

He opened his mouth as if my words shocked him. "Oh, does Little Lina not like getting her hair pulled?" He replaced the hand on my stomach with his knee, entangled his fingers in my curls, and pulled upward.

"No," I said defiantly, letting him know that I didn't appreciate his actions at all.

"No?" he asked, tone dripping with mockery, and he licked his lips. "Well how about _now_!"

He yanked my hair as though he was trying to rip it from my head. Eyes watering, I bit my tongue to stop myself from screaming; coppery crimson soon filled my mouth. And somehow he managed to tug even harder to the point where my shrieks were ringing in my ears along with his wretched howls of laughter. My vision was completely white with the burning pain as I writhed beneath his hold like some dying animal. In my desperation, I kneed him in the stomach. He let go of me as his laughter turned into a series of wheezing coughs. I wanted to take the opportunity to slug him across the face, but he caught my fist in midair and twisted my wrist until I knelt on the floor.

Glaring up at him, I quickly sunk my teeth into his hand. He gave a shout of either pain or delight (I just couldn't tell anymore) as his fist collided with the side of my head. I fell to the ground, feeling woozy as little sirens seemed to go off in my skull. I made sure to keep my eyes closed and my mouth shut as he drove his foot into my side several times. Lying completely still, I clung onto the consciousness that began to slip away as I waited for the harsh blows to end. When they did it was only a matter of time before he knelt beside me. I assumed that he was peering closely at my face because I could feel the warmth of his labored breaths against my skin.

He wasn't Jack anymore. He was the Joker, the malevolent animal that hurt and abused his precious little Jester for fun. But now…now I wasn't Jester anymore. She always ran away, always dodged whatever he dished out. Now, I wanted to hurt him right back.

"Oh, Jessster, wakey wakey." His leering voice made my insides clench.

Three...two…one. I snapped one eye open and grabbed the sides of his head as I rammed my forehead against his. As he clutched at his head I rolled backward away from him, hearing and feeling the slight crack of my neck. After quickly recovering from the blow, he lunged at me; balancing myself on my palms and my lower back, I kicked him in the face before he even touched me, again and again. When he fell to the floor, his head making a resounding thud against the wood, I still remained poised. Several seconds passed in which he didn't move at all. At first I thought that he might be trying to pull me in with my own trick, but then figured that he was beyond such tactics. Everything he was and did was his own, original.

Shakily, I got onto my hands and knees, spat out a mouthful of coppery blood onto the floor, and crawled over to his still form. Kneeling beside him, I was surprised to find that he was actually out cold. The odd thing was that the ghost of a smile was just lightly dancing across his lips. His visage showed such peacefulness, such a serenity that betrayed his recent actions. He looked…like Jack.

He was Jack again, and any anger left within me melted away until I was left kneeling there wearing an air of shame and curiosity. Shame because I had let my fury take over my mind until I willingly harmed him. Curiosity because now that he was lying there so calmly, I wanted him. I wanted him, I wanted to touch him, but not in a sexual manner. Gently, I climbed on top of him, somewhat straddling him, ignoring the thing pressing slightly against my leg. I didn't even want to begin to think that what I'd done to him had been "exciting" him.

I let my hands roam across his chest, smiling as my fingertips playing over the muscles of his abdomen. I ran my hands up his arms and shoulders, tracing his collarbones. My fingers glided up his neck until they rested on his jaw line. Now using only one hand, I tenderly stroked his cheek. His greasepaint clung to my skin. With the other hand, I brushed his hair away from his face, curling several green tendrils around my fingers. I slowly traced a finger along his smile, feeling the bumps of his scars and the softness of his lips. The pad of my finger was stained red when I lifted my hand away. Languidly, almost in a trance-like manner, I ran my finger across my own lips, smiling when I wondered if this was like kissing him in a very indirect way. Then, almost without thinking, I bent down and actually did press my lips against his temple.

I'm not sure how long I stayed in that position, relishing the feeling of my lips against his sweat-moistened, makeup-coated skin.

"_Go to sleep, Lina," he whispered, stroking my hair._

"_B-but what if he comes?" I couldn't stop the quiver in my voice, clinging to him beneath the blanket._

"_He won't."_

"_How do you know?"_

"_I don't. But if he does, you're safe with me." He looked me in the eyes, wiping away the tears on my cheeks with his thumb. "I promise," he whispered, and placed a kiss to my forehead. When he pulled away, I buried my face in his chest, letting him continue to stroke my hair until I fell asleep._

I pulled away, looking down at his face again, and smiled. I knew that somewhere, buried deep down inside, Jack was still alive. Just knowing that was enough for me. I climbed down from my perch and decided that he didn't deserve to be left lying there. So, I squatted down behind him and hooked my arms around his stomach. With a large effort on my part, and absolutely none from him, I was able to pull him up onto the bed. I was nice enough to make sure he was lying in the right direction; then, I curled up beside him. If I woke up to the Joker, then at least I was able to fall asleep beside Jack. That was all that mattered.

**Soooo...like it? Hate it? Tell me what you think!**


	8. Bathwater

**NejisDarkNymph, hotbritt5000, PoisonMaker, and Darkness Takes Over, thank you, thank you all so much for reviewing. You guys are the reason why I keep writing.**

**I apologize for making you all wait so long for this chappie. I promise that the next one will not take nearly as long. **

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Chapter 7: Bathwater

My eyes flew open when I felt something squeeze around my middle. I found myself staring into Jack's face, pulled up against him with one of his arms wrapped around me. I wondered how I had come to be in this position, for surely this was not how I had fallen asleep. I moved to detach his arm from my body, but I was only pressed up against him more as his embrace tightened. Sighing softly, I decided that it would be best if I simply waited for him to release me on his own. I rested my head against his chest.

Again, I was rudely awakened when I felt something poking into my back. This time I found myself with my face nestled in the crook of his neck and snuggled as close to him as possible. He was tapping out a rapid pattern on my arm with one hand and digging his nails into the revealed skin of my back with the other.

"Lina," he whispered huskily, his warm breath caressing my cheek as his lips brushed against my ear. His teeth nipped playfully at the sensitive skin of my neck. I gasped at the feeling, and I squirmed slightly when he increased the pressure on my back. "What are you doing, Lina?" I went to pull away from him, but he grabbed the back of my head with the hand that had previously been tapping my arm, forcing me to keep still.

"You were so com-_for_-table earlier. Why do you seem too…_eager_ to get away from me?" He raked his nails down my back and bit my neck until something warm trickled down my skin. I let out a cry of pain, and he flung me away from him onto the floor. I lay there silent for a few moments, catching my breath. When I looked up, there he stood looming over me.

His tongue darted out to brush those sneering lips. "Not so touchy _now_, eh?" I stared up at him, knowing full well that I would be punished for my actions. He picked me up by the scruff of my neck, lifting me several inches off the ground, and rammed me into a wall.

"First of all, I. Don't. Like. Being. Touched." With every word that he spoke, he slammed me against the wall, causing my head to bang against the stone.

"Second, you need to learn to show some respect." Pulling me away from the wall, he dragged me over to the bathroom door. "And until that happens, you will be spending your time in here." With that, he tossed me, none too gently, to the tiled floor and slammed the door closed. I heard something being dragged across the floor, and the doorknob jostled. I picked myself up off the ground and tried opening the door. I should have already known that it would not yield to my hands, for he had obviously jammed the chair beneath the doorknob.

Quite disappointed with my current situation, I put the toilet seat down (why is it that men never seemed to do that?) and sat. I pressed a hand to the back of my throbbing head. My palm was stained with crimson when I pulled it away.

Several hours passed (I assumed that they were hours, but then any amount of time feels long when one is sitting alone in a restroom) during which I pondered over why I was there. Not in the bathroom, exactly, but just there in general. I reviewed what had taken place, from my capture to waking up beside him this morning.

I shouldn't have allowed myself to give in to such childish whims. I should have known that I would be sealing my death wish by leaving myself in such a vulnerable position. But I _did_ know…so why did I sleep beside him?

**Because you love him.**

The absurdity of that statement almost made me laugh. I didn't _love_ him, no I did not. Maybe I did twelve years ago, but what I had felt could only have been classified as the sort of love shared by siblings. I did _not _love him. How…how could I possibly think that? I didn't…I _didn't_ think that.

Normally, when one thinks, it is their own voice that that they hear in their head. My voice was most definitely _not_ the one that I heard speaking such utterly false statements. Well, it was my voice, but at the same time it sounded nothing like me. In fact, the voice sounded much more youthful, as though it belonged to someone barely older than a child…with purple hair, brown eyes, and purple lips.

"_Jack, during the show can you not be so…"_

_He turned to me, features outlined in annoyance. "So __**what**__, Lina?"_

_I stared down at the ground and shuffled my feet nervously. "So scary."_

_He sighed and turned away. "That ain't me, Lina, that's the Joker."_

"_But you __**are**__ the Joker."_

_He looked at me again. "I'm Jack. I __**created**__ the Joker for when I'm performing. If it bothers you so much, then why don't you make up someone who can handle him?"_

So I did. I created Jester. She was everything that I wasn't. She was confident, flirtatious, always smiling and antagonizing the Joker. I was two different people: the small, timid Velina behind closed curtains, and the brazen, playful Jester out in the ring. After a while, she became almost like my conscience. When questioning the morality of something, or just questioning something in general, her voice was the one that sounded in my head. But that's all she ever was, a friendly, helpful presence inside of me. She never became something that I couldn't control, like an alter ego. She was my strength, my guidance, and someone I could talk to when I was lonely.

Sometimes I became her in order to deal with Jack within the last few months that we spent together. By that time, I knew that the Joker had already developed into more than just a facade. I knew that Jack was losing his control over the monster.

It was odd, though, how easily Jester and the Joker had clicked, like me and Jack. One was never seen without the other. It was up until our final show together that Jester had resided within me. After Jack left, she just disappeared, like she couldn't exist without the Joker.

The voice now speaking such utter lies belonged to me, but a previous me that had disappeared many years ago. My good friend was back, and I knew that she was not about to go away.

"Well, long time no see," I whispered, not quite so eager to let the Joker hear me talking to myself.

**Oh, Honey, you have **_**no**_** idea.**

"So, where've you been lately?"

**Here, there…not sure exactly where, though. It's been dark for a long time, Baby.**

"Yeah, well it's no mystery as to why you're back."

**You say that like you're disappointed in me, Darling. As I **_**do**_** recall, you only ever needed me when dealing with…Him. I've simply returned to resume my…duties.**

"How thoughtful of you."

**You don't sound very grateful. **

"Should I? We both know that you're here for your own dirty little pleasure."

**Speaking of which, where **_**is**_** my Sugar?**

"Bedroom."

There was a slight pause. Then:

**Well, can I see him?**

"Afraid not. You see, he's locked us in the bathroom."

**Hmm, that **_**does**_** pose a problem. What happened? Have a little lovers spat?**

"I do _not_ love him," I growled, hearing a door slam in the other room. I stood and reached past the shower curtain, turning the knobs and this time allowing the tub to fill up with water.

**What're you doing?**

"I think I'm going to drown myself." When she gasped in response I added, "Just for a little while."

I stripped away my outfit and released my hair from the two rubber bands before stepping into the water and lying down until I was completely submerged except for my face. My skin felt somewhat tingly in the almost scalding water, and I suddenly felt drowsy as though the fact that I hadn't gotten much sleep was only now taking its toll on me.

I closed my eyes, allowing my mind to drift into a haze of warmth.

_I stood in front of the floor-length mirror, hopping from foot to foot in an attempt to take off my stockings. I watched Jack's reflection as he removed his coat and unbuttoned his vest. Finally, my legs and feet were bare. I reached behind me, trying to grasp my zipper. After several unsuccessful tries to find the zipper, I dropped my hands in a huff._

"_Jack, can you help me?" I pleaded._

_He turned to me, removing his shirt from the waistband of his trousers. He took off his gloves, placed them on a table with the rest of his belongings, and strode over to me, shoulders hunched. Grasping my zipper, he pulled down until my back was fully exposed. He put his arms around me and pressed his white cheek against mine and we just stood there for a few moments._

"_You're so pretty, Lina," he whispered, his voice gravely. Something didn't quite feel right for some reason. A tremor ran through my body and I became extremely uncomfortable when something hard pressed against my lower back. _

"_Jack?" He released me with one of his arms and I thought he might leave me alone, but I jumped when he instead squeezed my right cheek._

_I squirmed in his grasp, but he held me tightly. He pressed his lips against my shoulder and trailed languid kisses up my neck._

"_Jack, st-stop it!"He growled and sunk his teeth into my neck in response. Then he spun me around and his mouth found my own, lips crushing against mine. I screamed into his mouth, and his tongue pushed past my lips like a hungry serpent._

_Tears blurred my vision as I frantically shoved against him, but he only pushed me into the mirror. Taking his knife out of his pocket, he cut the straps of my leotard, causing the material to fall and reveal my heaving bosom. He roughly grabbed my breast, nails digging into my skin. When I bit down on his tongue, hoping to deter him, he moaned into my mouth and began to grind his hips into mine._

_I beat my small fists uselessly against his chest, still screaming against his forceful lips. But I knew it was hopeless, my Jack was gone; my Jack wouldn't do this to me._

_His lips left mine, and one of his hands wrapped around my throat, holding me in place while he fumbled with something below his waist. As I struggled against his choking grasp, I wasn't paying attention to his other hand until I heard a zipping sound. Looking down, I could see that the fly of his trousers was undone. Right then, I knew that he was going do the very thing that he'd sworn he would protect me from. Any rational thought within me deserted me at that moment._

"_Non, Jack! S'il vous plaît, s'il vous plaît arrêter! Ne pas faire ceci! S'il vous plaît!"_

_My screams fell to the deaf walls, as Jack wasn't even acknowledging my pleas. I went to try again, but he tightened his grip around my neck and any words I had planned were halted along with my next breath. Again, the knife was in his hands, and he slashed at the material running between my legs. I felt a flash of pain in my inner thigh, and I looked to see blood trickling down my leg before he crushed his lips against mine once more._

_My vision blurred as tears welled up in my eyes. I was becoming dizzy and faint due to lack of oxygen, and my movements were weak. I cried out when I felt his hand brush against my opening, and he laughed darkly against my lips._

_No, I couldn't let him do this, I just couldn't! I had to stop him, bring him out of this horrible persona. With one final rush of energy, I sent my fist into his face. I felt something give away beneath my knuckles and a sickening crunch filled my ears. My knees buckled beneath me as he released me and jumped away, holding his nose. I collapsed on the ground, choking, gasping for breath. Blood gushed between his fingers and he stared at me with wide eyes, recognition chasing away the darkness that previously filled them. Shock, horror, and utter despair flashed across those brown orbs; for a moment, I thought that they began to glisten with tears._

"_Velina?" I stared back at him, holding a hand to my throat while trying to cover my chest with the other. "Oh, God, I'm—Lina, I—" His voice was so broken, so terrifyingly unlike him. "I'm so sorry," he whispered, before turning and running from the tent. Only then did I allow myself to cry. I cried and sobbed until I was choking and literally drowning in my sorrow. My tears ran into my mouth and down my throat and—_

I opened my eyes and sat up, coughing and gasping for air. I could feel my heart ramming against my rib cage; my hands were shaking. My face was wet, my hair was soaked, and the water was cold; I figured that I'd fallen asleep. That memory was not one that had graced my sleeping, or waking, moments for quite some time. And yet, it the one that I detested the most, as it always left me in tears. For some reason, though, I wasn't crying.

The door creaked open and I turned, swallowing a scream, to see him leaning forward through the doorway. Hurriedly, I grabbed the white shower curtain and held it in front of my body. He raised an eyebrow in amusement.

"Hurry up and get out of there. And put these on," he said, tossing a few articles of clothing onto the counter. "Hope you uh, like Chin_ese_." With that, he spun on his heel and left me sitting there in the cold bathwater. I licked a droplet of water from the corner of my mouth; it was salty.

**______________________________________________**

**French = "No, Jack! Please, please stop! Don't do this! Please!"**

**Like it? Hate it? Please review!**


	9. Torn and Tattered

**Poison Maker, hotbritt5000, deathb4beauty, and Not Human, while my progress is slow, it would be nonexistent without your guys' kind words, and so I must thank you...with hugs! Sorry, I like hugs.**

**Well, after dealing with a case of extreme writer's block for a couple months, and then moving so I had no access to the internet for a while, I can admit that I have utterly failed in producing this chapter in an acceptable amount of time. To those of you who are still with me, I thank you for being verrrrrry patient. I think of this chappie as a sort of filler, as I climb out of the deep chasm of writer's block that I have been trapped in.**

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Chapter 8: Torn and Tattered

So, there we were, I sitting on the bed with my legs crossed and he straddling the chair with his arms hanging over the back. Each of us had a carton of noodles, and for a while we ate in silence. Two empty cartons sat on the table; I was still working on my first. Sure, I was hungry, but I hadn't eaten real food in two years. All I'd been able to eat were protein shakes, slipping the straw between the stitches in my lips. Gaston used to say that he wouldn't go and let me lose my _beautiful_ figure.

I was wearing a pair of dark blue pajama bottoms and a white tank top. I neglected to ask who they belonged to, as I didn't have the luxury of underwear and wasn't too keen on finding out that a disgusting pig normally wore them; I was more than happy to remain ignorant. Sticking my chopsticks into the slimy mess I'd been consuming, I sighed and bowed my head.

"I'm sorry," I said, twisting the chopsticks around.

He glanced up and looked at me. "For uh, _what_, exactly?"

"For disrespecting you…for overreacting…among other things." My cheeks flushed with warmth. For hitting him, then and now. The first time I'd broken his nose, and this time…well, I'd gotten a bit stronger over the years. For not getting him out of that state of mind earlier than I did. I was sure that his assault on me had been one of the biggest factors is his decision to…

_I set out my outfit – my backup outfit – on my bed. The last show in this town was to take place in only two hours, and I wasn't looking forward to it at all. I hadn't seen Jack since the day before when…well a while ago. I sat down on my bedroll and stared at my hands; they were shaking. Glancing away from them, I saw a note sitting on my pillow _

"Well, now, that sure is all…fine and daaandy," he licked his lips, "but I don't need the little-miss-miserable voice. Those kind of…e_mo_tions are a sign of…_weakness_."

His voice retrieved me from my dark reminiscing, and I forced myself to lock gazes with him. "Maybe I _am_ weak."

A smirk danced across his lips and he chuckled to himself. "You, my little slinky, are not wea_k_." He noisily slurped up the remaining excuse for food in his carton.

I raised an eyebrow at his confident deduction, mostly because of his use of the word "slinky." I wondered when I had become practically the most useless object in existence.

"So, uh…why the whole _change_?" I looked at him, and the expression I wore must have revealed that I was clueless as to what he was speaking of, for he licked his lips and continued, "You weren't _always_ a redhead."

"Gaston said that being blond made me look too young and innocent. I needed to look older, sexier."

He laughed at this and threw his now empty container onto the table. "And the eyes?"

"Contact lenses. Brown was too plain, and flashy green would look better in the ring."

"Uh huh…and you're pale as a sheet because?"

I sighed. "If I wasn't in the truck or the tent…then I was in the process of walking from one to the other. Besides, after a while we started only doing night shows." I spared a glance at his face. Something odd was swirling in those dark eyes, something unidentifiable. I wanted to call it concern, but I wouldn't dare lie to myself. As far as I could tell, he wasn't capable of such emotions anymore. Another pang of guilt resonated in my chest. This was my fault; I hadn't been able to stop him from becoming the man that he was. Perhaps in creating Jester, I had encouraged his journey into madness.

I was startled from my thoughts when something plopped onto the bed beside me. A large canvas bag gaped open, filled with several long rolls of fabric. I looked up to see him standing there with a smug looked painted on his face.

"I was uh, gracious enough to send someone on a few...errands, so now you have everything on your little list to make that oh-so-delicious apparel."

A small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, completely disregarding the guilt I was attempting to harbor. Strangely, some part of me wanted to take responsibility for his current condition. This part of me hoped that if I was the cause of his transformation, then maybe I could bring back the Jack that I had loved so many years ago.

Hmm…love, such an odd word. Perhaps adore would be more appropriate. Yes, the Jack that I previously adored.

**Oh, don't be silly, Sweetheart. You loved him way back whenever it was, and I bet you still do. Just dig deep enough, you'll find it.**

"But I need to find _him_ first," I muttered. He glanced down at me and raised a brow.

"Are we, uh, talking to ourselves now? You know, that's gonna make people think you're ca-raaaazy."

Again, that smile pulled at my lips; I allowed it to do so. I couldn't understand this; within two days, he'd been able to undo everything that I had become during his absence. I learned to keep my emotions hidden and constantly in check. Now, I couldn't even hold back a smile. Now, he was tossing me back and forth between afraid, annoyed, and amused. Why did I allow him to unravel and destroy twelve years of progress?

He removed a needle from a pack in the bag and then began to try to thread it. Several failed attempts brought out a low growl from his throat, and when I found myself smiling again I knew the answer.

He was Jack, plain and simple. Beneath the many years and makeup, tiny glimpes of him would shine through, briefly, but long enough to let me know that he was still there.

I felt a sharp pricking along my arm, and I looked to see him jabbing the needle into my skin. I caught his eye, but sill he continued his assault upon my arm, which wasn't particularly painful but I could honestly say that I wasn't too fond of needles. I calmly took the needle from his grasp and said, "Would you like me to start making it?"

"Oh, yesss, yes I do. I can't _wait_ to take you out on the town in that little number and show you off to ev-ry-one. They will be sooooo jealous." He rubbed his hands together, smiling like a crocodile.

He went over to his plans, most likely to "prepare," while I began to create Jester's new look. I already knew my own measurements, so I jumped into my work right away. I was fast, I openly admit. I'd sewn all my own costumes, and Jack's, and when Gaston found out about my talent, he'd appointed me as "the family's seamstress." In order to occupy my time between shows and rehearsals, I'd repair torn costumes and update my own look whenever the notion hit me. The practice had given me skilled hands with a needle and thread, since I hadn't been allowed to have a sewing machine.

I could feel his eyes on me every now and then, watching my progress. Four hours had me almost finished with the skirt of the dress, which I pleated and made out of a material that had the rigidity of denim but without the thickness; it was dyed a shade of purple to match the Joker's apparel. I'd originally planned for it to be knee length, but I discovered that he'd scribbled "_much shorter_" on my sketch, so I was forced to end it halfway down my thigh.

I actually wasn't much of a sleeper, so I continued to work long after midnight. I'd kept the torso of Jester's outfit mostly the same, except it was completely purple to match the skirt and the sleeves came down to just past my elbows. Considering that I didn't know how long he was planning to keep me around for, I wasn't trying to make this my greatest masterpiece. My hems weren't completely even and I hadn't sewn the torso and skirt together straight, so the skirt came up a bit higher on one side. Yet, that just made it more appropriate, more Jester. She was spontaneous and frivolous, and completely proud to be so.

**You better believe it, Babe. I am back and ready to have some fun!**

"How can you be so lighthearted?"

**Unlike you, I haven't forgotten how to laugh occasionally. **

"There's nothing to laugh _about_."

**Not true, not true at all. The Joker is able to find all _sorts_ of things to laugh about.**

"In case you haven't noticed, most of those things happen at _my_ expense."

**Well, I for one like a man with a sense of humor.**

"I suppose that's one way to put it," I remarked bitterly. I glanced over in his direction to see him asleep with his head in his arms on the desk. By then it was already three o'clock in the morning, and I could feel my eyelids growing heavy. I set my work aside and allowed myself to sleep.

**~*****~**

I woke to find that I was alone in the bedroom; the bathroom light was on. I'm not sure whether I was surprised or just unnerved when I looked in to see him holding my piece of craftsmanship against his body and modeling it in front of the mirror. He caught sight of me in the mirror and turned slightly in my direction, keeping his eyes on my reflection.

"You know, Doll, I can make _anything_ look good, but I think that this might suit you a bit better." He then turned to look at me and held the dress in front of me. "Yeah, I like that…but uh, something's mi_ss_ing." He stared me straight in the eyes, that serpentine tongue darted out, and for a moment, I thought he was going to hit me. "Where's my corset?"

"Where's my hammer?" I asked, crossing my arms and raising a brow.

"Ah yes, of course, how…inconsidera_t_e of me." He tossed the dress at me and walked by me into the bedroom. "I'll be sure to get you one at my first convenience._"_ I rolled my eyes as I went to follow him; a leather-gloved hand met my face and pushed me back into the room. "Ah ta ta, I want you to go and try on that get-up while I fetch your necessities."

With that, he slammed the door in my face. While I set about dressing myself, I began to wonder why I was still there. The constant locking of doors and windows had been a great hindrance in my attempts to escape. I tested the bathroom door to find that it was actually unlocked, yet I remained in front of the mirror. I could probably find something with which to break open the window, and then get away down the fire escape; I was still standing in the middle of the bathroom.

I couldn't figure out why I wasn't trying to leave, or why I hadn't found a way out when he'd left me alone the first time.

**You can't figure it out? Girl, it's staring you right in the face!**

"I don't understand."

**Ever since he left, you've felt lost and confused about what you're doing. Now that you're back together, you feel safe.**

"Safe is hardly the word for it."

**Oh hush, you. He's not going to let anything happen to you. He stabbed a man just for insulting you.**

"But–wait, how do you know that?"

**Darling, we share a mind, remember? I must say that it was a bit uncomfortable trying to cram twelve years of memories into a few minutes. **

"I apologize. But all you've suggested is that he's fine with knocking me around as long as _he's_ the one doing it."

**You're completely missing the point! He could've raped you and then killed you, but he didn't! You know _why_ he didn't? Cause of who you are! You are his Little Lina, and he is your Jack, and now that you're back together you can't bring yourself to leave him.**

"Oh, will you shut up? I get it!" Maybe she was right, but I wasn't fully prepared to admit it. Perhaps it was my pride that kept me from confessing that I would rather live with a violent lunatic than walk the streets on my own. Here, I had a bed and food...and companionship, if his presence could be considered such a thing. Out there, I would have an entire city staring at me as though I was some sort of oddity on display, drawing disturbed looks and listening to whispers of curiosity. I decided that I'd much rather hide behind these restricting walls.

I looked at myself in the mirror, clad in Jester's partially finished attire. Then a mallet flew behind me into the wall, creating a resounding crack of fragmenting tile; I couldn't hold back a scream as I whirled around toward the doorway. There he stood, leaning against the door frame, laughing his head off at my reaction.

"Oh, you are so, just so _pre_cious." Wiping a tear from his eye, he went to retrieve the weapon, still giggling as though my fear was the most amusing thing in the world. Then again, to him it probably was; which is why I could understand his next action: he grasped the mallet in both hands, looked sideways at me, and swung right at my face.

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**Please tell me what you think, even if you hate it! If something's wrong, tell me how to fix it!**


	10. Because of You

**Hehehe I just realized that I posted the chapter before this on 7/11, as in 7-eleven, like the store? Hahaha…gosh I have no life.**

**Poison Maker, Darkness Takes Over, and Not Human, your reviews make me feel all fuzzy inside, and they have spurred me to complete the so far longest chappie I've written in less time than the others. I have definitely broken out of my writer's block, and after this chappie the plot will start to speed up (I hope) cause I'll be including and interweaving through the movie scenes, which will be a big help. Sooo without further ado, I present the next chappie, but first I shall renew my disclaimer:**

**Don't own anything, nada, nothing AT ALL, except Velina, the plot, and several random characters.**

Chapter 9: Because of You

I blearily cracked my eyes open, immediately shutting them when a white light filled my vision and thousands of glass shards reverberated throughout my skull, crashing against my forehead like a…mallet.

A groan escaped my lips. I placed a hand to my forehead only to find that it was dressed in gauze. My head rested upon a pillow. I dared to open my eyes again, this time squinting against the blaring luminosity that pierced my head.

"Ah, Miss Samuels, you're awake."

"Wha…?" I turned my head in the direction of the voice; a blurry white figure stood at the foot of the bed I was currently lying in.

"Miss Samuels?" The blob walked over to my side. "Can you hear me?"

I blinked several times in order to clear my vision and opened my eyes a fraction wider. The throbbing sensation erupted behind my eyes, but I forced myself to keep them open. The figure was a man dressed in a white jacket, and that was when I noted my odd surroundings.

"Where…?"

The walls were a dingy grey, the floor a dismal brown with the tiling coming undone. I was covered in a white sheet from the waist down, and I noticed I was wearing one of those flimsy hospital gowns. I'd only worn one once in my life, and I'd hoped that I wouldn't encounter the same fashion statement ever again.

"Miss Samuels, do you remember anything? Do you remember what happened?" The man looked at me with worried dark blue eyes behind a pair or spectacles. Rumpled brown hair and bags beneath his eyes made me think that he was either stressed or unrested...or perhaps both.

**Who's Miss Samuels?**

"Who is...?"

"Miss Samuels, my name is Dr. Bradshaw. You're in Gotham General. You took a rather hard hit to your forehead."

I closed my eyes. So…my last name was Samuels? For some odd reason, that didn't sound right. I wondered if perhaps everything had only been a dream. But then, I couldn't remember falling asleep in the first place. I couldn't remember. I didn't even know who I–

"The young man who brought you in wanted you to have this the moment you woke up. He was very insistent."

The doctor lifted a sealed envelope from a table and placed it in my hand; I squinted at the tiny scrawl printed on one side. It read: _Jester_

Opening the envelope, there was a small note inside.

_Had some things to do. Be back for you in a few days._

_J._

_PS: Don't leave. I've got my eye on you._

I looked up from the paper to find that the doctor was still by my side.

"Miss Samuels? Is everything all right?"

"Uh…y-yes. How…how long have I been here?"

"Four days, not surprising though, considering what happened. You received a slight fracture in the front of your skull, minor, but more than enough to cause a concussion."

His words barely registered in my mind. "Oh…" I placed my fingertips against my forehead again and winced at the slight pressure.

"Are you in any pain?"

"No, I-I'm…fine." That was anything but the truth. My head felt as though it was about to split down the middle and every sound erupted new throbbing pangs throughout my cranium. "I'm just tired."

He gave me a sympathetic smile and clasped his hands behind his back. "Well, try to get some rest. I'll be back to check in on you soon."

His footfalls sounded out the room and down the hallway, but I didn't care about the doctor. I kept staring at those scribbled words in my hands, trying to make some sense out of them; they held no meaning whatsoever. Who was J? A friend? A relative? Why couldn't I remember them? And since when was my last name Samuels? Since when _wasn't_ it? What was my first name? Nothing was making sense!

**Velina!**

I froze, wild-eyed with shock at the sound of a girl's voice, which seemed to originate from within my battered head.

"He-hello?" I tried, wondering if perhaps I had simply imagined the outburst.

**Sweetie, calm down. Just breathe and try to get your thoughts together.**

"But I don't have any thoughts!" I pressed my lips together, processing the fact that a voice was speaking to me inside my head. Then I flopped back onto my pillow and wailed, "I'm going crazy!" cringing when my head throbbed again.

**Shut up.**

The voice sounded annoyed, and much too mature. It was as though it belonged to a kid pretending to be an adult.

"I-if you don't mind me asking, who are you and why are you in my head?" I sounded much too timid for my taste. A fluttery laugh echoed in my ears, and I supposed that I had somehow managed to amuse the voice. It trailed off, however, when I remained silent.

**Oh…you're not joking, my apologies. Don't worry, we'll have you fixed in a jiffy.**

There was silence for several moments, during which I wondered if the voice had gone away. Then, it hit me.

A violent torrent of sounds and flashes of color flooded into my head, filling the empty spaces with pictures and voices of every sort that at first I couldn't recognize. As I began to wander through the continuous stream of incoming memories, I felt as though I was reliving my entire life all over again.

"_Why can't you have something to eat? Because your father is dead and I don't get paid at either of my jobs for another week!"_

"_I can get you out of here. You come with me, and a whole world of excitement will be waiting for you."_

"_Sooo…I take it you're one of the real nuts in this place?"_

"_Sh sh sh, stop squirming, it'll only hurt worse."_

"_Run, dammit!"_

"_Here's what I'm thinking: Joker and Jester, together."_

"_Oh, God, I'm—Lina, I—"_

"_Ladies and gentlemen, so sorry, but Mr. Gaston is unable to speak at the moment. But don't worry; this next act is sure to "blow" you all right out of your seats."_

"_Lucky for you, that little bastard's gone. Now you don't have to share the limelight."_

"_Fine, let's close that mouth. There, that'll keep you quiet while I finish. You can still breathe through your nose. Dolls aren't supposed to talk, anyway."_

_"The circus was in town, and no one thought to give __**me**__ a call? That hurts, that really just...hurts."_

"_Oh, you are so, just so __**pre**__cious."_

The onslaught of memories left me somewhat disoriented at first. When the room ended its horrid spinning, I could feel a warm sensation begin to creep up the back of my neck as I clenched my fists.

Jack.

Darkness swam before my eyes, and I lost myself to its welcoming embrace.

~*****~

_**Dear Lina,**_

_**Meet me in the costume tent half an hour before the show starts. Please, I need to talk to you.**_

_**Jack**_

_I looked from side to side, searching the area for any sign of him. How could I trust that he wouldn't try anything like last time? The truth was that I couldn't. I clutched my costume in my hands, stood, and left the gloomy truck in exchange for the blaring sunlight._

When I came to, the room was pitch black but for a faint glow spilling from beneath the closed door. I welcomed the lack of light, for at least it did nothing to aggravate the low pulsation in my head. The only thing I could hear was my own breathing, mixed with the soft sound of curtains brushing against each other due to a breeze coming from a cracked open window. I couldn't recall that window being open earlier, and I doubted that a nurse had opened it, what with the obvious risk of airborne illnesses attempting to murder me in my sleep.

But…perhaps the window _had_ been open, and my memory was still lacking in some areas. What couldn't I remember? I decided that it was best to leave such thoughts in the dust and instead rejoice at the fact that I could recall anything at all. Still, that open window was worrying me. I pulled my sheets up to my chin when the possibility of burglary entered my mind.

My head still swimming with thoughts of armed men wearing ski masks, I sat up quickly when a soft click reached my ears; I just about fainted when a gloved hand covered my mouth. However, I did scream bloody murder, though the cloth greatly muffled my cry for help. I allowed a tear to roll down my cheek when I felt the barrel of a gun press against my temple. This was it; I was going to die right then and there. The only thought that somewhat calmed me was that at least I would breathe my last breath in a hospital bed like many others in the building.

My assailant pressed the gun a bit harder against my head, and the pain it created brought out a whine from between my lips. The thug made several tsking sounds and slowly lifted their hand away from my mouth.

"You uh, need to learn to _loosen_ up, doll face." I turned to stare incredulously at my so-called-attacker, and he responded to my open-mouthed gaping by holding his thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart and saying, "Just a bi_t_."

"You…you…" I trailed off, far too angry with him to even form a complete sentence.

He cocked his head to the side, watching me with an expectant look on his face. "I believe the words you're looking for are _Thank you_."

"Th-thank you?" I nearly shouted, raising my arms in exasperation. "Um, excuse me, but _you _are the reason that I'm here in the first place!"

He smacked his lips together and chewed on the inside of his cheek, peering down at me through squinted eyes.

"Yes, that's right. _I_ was only testing your reflexes, and _you_ decided to bleed alllll over my bathroom. _I_ could have let you bleed to death, but _I _was kind enough to have one of my boys bring you here. Speaking of which, _I_ was forced to kill said boy. Since he was seen with _you_, if he was seen with _me_ then they might be able to connect _you_ to_ me_, and that would just ruin e-vry-thing. So, in order to keep _you _safe and a_li_ve, _I _lost one of my best boys and one of my best shirts." His entire speech was kept at an eerily conversational tone that scared me more than if he'd been shouting at me. That tone meant that he was royally pissed off and ready to cut me up, something that I deeply wished to avoid. He hauled me up by the collar of my gown, looked straight in the eye, and licked his lips. "Do you know how hard it is to get out bloodstains, girlie girl?"

Much too afraid to trust my voice, I simply shook my head in response. I could feel myself shaking with absolute terror, but for once, my fear didn't seem to amuse him. His face remained frighteningly cool and emotionless. After dropping me back onto the bed, he turned away and went to stare out the window, resting his hands on the sill.

"Hard," he spat.

"Thank you," I whispered, feeling much like a spoiled, ungrateful child who doesn't know how good she has it. Truthfully, I wasn't completely convinced that I had it particularly good. However, I came to the quick conclusion that it would be in my best interest to not point out the fact that this whole mess could have been avoided if he had simply tried out my reflexes with something far less heavy, like perhaps his fist.

"Not that I'm not used to i_t_, and by now I can get them out in a flash, but is it _that_ hard to show a little consideration?" he mumbled. That comment almost sent me into a shouting rage, but I wisely kept my lips firmly pressed together. I was so tempted to walk right up to him and say,_ I apologize that I didn't think to move my bleeding head away from your precious shirt while I was unconscious after you decided to whack me in the head with a fucking mallet!_, but I was aware that such an act would not end with results in my favor. It appeared as though my words of gratitude had gone unheard, so I repeated them a few levels louder.

He tapped his fingers against the sill. I could see him watching me intently in the window's reflection.

"Anything eeeelse?"

I sighed, twisting the edge of the sheet in my hands. "I'm sorry."

"Ahhhh," he turned away from the window, "there's those magic words I was waiting for." He came to kneel beside me. He grabbed both my cheeks in one hand and squeezed them so that I had fish lips. I could see that he was trying to keep back a snicker at the way I looked. "Bu_t_, sorry's just not gonna _cut_ i_t_." Frowning at me, he turned my head from side to side several times.

"What do you want?" I asked through my pinched lips.

At this, he did begin to giggle, and it was only when the small fit ended that he answered me. "I've got some plans tomorrow night, and I want you to tag along. Ya see, I'd _like_ to think that I can trust my boys, but I know I can'_t_, and I'm gonna be in a rather…_vulnerable_ po-si-tion with what some of them might consider a pretty tasty bounty on my head. So, you're gonna make sure that I. _Don't_._ Die_. Got i_t_?" That serpentine tongue darted out for a moment.

He nodded my head up and down for me several times, released me, and patted me on the head. "That's a good girl."

Standing up, he looked around the room. "Now, where did Chucky put your clothes?"

"Who's Chucky?"

"Uh, a buddy of mine who works here. I got something I can't fix on my own, I go to him. He doesn't ask questions and keeps his mouth _shut_. I usually just make a uh, a house call, but if it's bad enough I come here. This part of the hospital hasn't been used in aaaages, so I get to keep my privacy, and I _am_ a man who enjoys his pa-_ri_vacy. Had my boy tell him that just your pretty little head needed fixing, but I _guess_ he thought that he needed to change you as well. Gonna have to talk to him about tha_t_…."

To say that this bit of news startled me would be an understatement. I had been under the watch of some shady doctor for four days, during which I was unconscious. If he had decided to change my clothing, I couldn't help but fear if he had chosen to do anything else.

"But…he acted so doctor-ish. If I wasn't a real patient, then why did he talk to me like I _was_ one?"

"Ah, you see, that's one of Chucky's…quirks. He is first and foremossst, or so _he_ says, a do_c_-tor. So, he treats every little person the same, no matter who or wha_t_ they are…at least when they're awake."

"He called me Miss Samuels. Why?"

"Told my boy to give him a fake name. He never told me what it was…didn't really get a uh, _chance_ to." I could detect a trace of laughter in his voice. Obviously, he didn't take the death of one of his "best boys" too seriously.

He dropped a small pile of clothes onto my lap, consisting of the pajama bottoms, tank top, and a gray hoodie. Perhaps my memory was still hazy, but I thought that I'd been wearing Jester's dress when my little "mishap" occurred. For my mind's sake, I forced myself to believe that my recollection was incorrect.

"Get dressed," he muttered. Because this room was in the older wing, there was no lavatory. I knew that he would not allow me to leave the room simply because that's just how he was. I threw my legs over the side of the bed and attempted to stand; my knees immediately buckled, and I held onto the edge of the bed for support. When I was confident that my legs had somewhat solidified, as at first they had surely been made of jelly, I waited for him to turn around. At first, he didn't seem to get the hint, but when I looked from him, to the clothes, and back to him, he understood.

"Oh, you don't want me to see your _girl junk_, I get it." Grinning mischievously, he put his hands over his eyes. "Don't worry, I won't take a look-see, _pr_omise."

Hesitantly, I untied the gown, watching for even the slightest move on his part. After several moments, I allowed the gown to fall from my figure, shivering when the breeze from the window sent gooseflesh rippling along my skin. As I dressed, I heard him mutter something along the lines of:

"I swear, you grow a pair of mosquito bites and suddenly there's this wall between us. I thought we were closer than this."

For the record, I was definitely not flat-chested; however, like most exceptionally thin women, my breasts were…small. At one point, Gaston had attempted to corner me into having silicone implants, but I'd somehow managed in a long-winded explanation composed entirely of made-up facts to convince him that such frivolities would only hinder my contortionism.

What he said was true though; we _had_ been close, so close that I'd considered him something akin to an older brother. He had been my confidant and protector, and I lost him when he assaulted me and shattered my trust.

I found it almost funny how both times I'd been in a hospital, he was the reason for it. The only difference was that this time, he was actually here to take me home. Home…that was an odd thing to call my current residence, but it was also the only word that really fit. I could call it my prison, but I didn't wish to escape from it.

I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, wincing when it rubbed against my forehead. I was still in some pain, but this was nothing compared to what I'd felt when I'd first woken up. I cleared my throat, letting him know that I was finished. He lowered his hands and smirked.

"My, don't _you_ look like a bag-o-bones." He placed a hand to his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm, I think I'll have Randy go out and get you something. I can't have you wearing _my_ clothes 24/7."

With that, he made his way back to the window and pushed up the pane. He glanced back at me one more time before climbing out the window and walking away. I took that as my cue to follow, and once I was out the window, I shut it and chased him into the parking lot. It struck me as almost funny how I could make a run for it at any moment, but there I was following him like some obedient puppy. That was how things had always been, though. I had constantly followed Jack blindly; just like now, he always expected me to tag along, never once looking back to make sure I was there. Either he had completely trusted me, or I was pathetically predictable.

But…perhaps this was a test. He was giving me a chance to attempt to escape, seeing if he could trust me. I had the choice, to either turn on my master or stand obediently by his side. Stuffing my hands into the front pocket of the hoodie, I continued after my dangerous, violent haven.

We stopped at a black SUV. He opened the passenger side door and performed a slight bow with a flourish of his hand, drawing a small smile from my lips.

Just as we were exiting the lot, my stomach decided to growl – loudly. He glanced at me, a smirk playing on his face, "You uh, huuungy, cu_p_ca_k_e?"

I shrugged my shoulders, unsure if he was actually making an offer or simply mocking me.

"Well, _I_ am. How do you feel about the uh, the big M?"

I didn't respond, as I wasn't exactly sure what the big M was. My musings were answered several minutes later, when we pulled into a McDonalds drive thru.

A bit of static fizzled out of the drive thru speaker for a moment before a teenager's drawl took over. "Yeah?" the feminine voice slurred. I stared at the car's neon green clock while he began to order; it was 12:07. No wonder the kid sounded like she didn't give a care. I could actually feel my own eyelids begin to droop with fatigue. For some reason, almost five days of rest hadn't been enough.

A slap on my shoulder roused me.

"What do you want, sleepy hea_d_?"

I simply shook my head in response, too tired to even force my lips to move. He glared at me, my silence definitely grating his nerves.

Turning back to the speaker, he added, "And a uh...one of those chicken happy meal _things_."

"That'll be thirteen —" Another wave of static engulfed the rest of her words.

As we pulled up to the window, I once again closed my eyes and allowed my chin to rest against my chest. This time, it was an agonizing slap to the back of my head that woke me. A cry of pain escaped my lips as I blinked away the flashes of color that formed before my eyes.

"You _better_ not be trying to staaaarve yourself," he growled. He tangled his fingers in my hair and pulled me toward him, making me gag when my seatbelt began to strangle me. "Because I won't, I _won't_ like tha_t_."

"I-I'm not!" I choked out. He simply stared at me, those cold, dark orbs penetrating my very core. I'm sure that he would've continued to completely unnerve me, but he settled for simply backhanding me across the face when the squeak of a door sounded. I held a hand to my burning cheek as more explosions went off inside my head.

"Thirteen eighty—"

I wondered why the girl had suddenly cut off. Looking out the driver side window, I could see her, mouth wide open, features pulled in an expression of absolute terror. Well, I should've been expecting such a face. I supposed it wasn't everyday that you had the Joker pull up to the drive thru window…with a gun pointed at your face. I gulped when I saw the piece of metal he held so nonchalantly.

"Hey there, sweetheart," he began in a casual voice. "Listen, I seem to be shor_t_ a few bucks. That uh, that isn't going to be a pa-roblem…is _it_?" On the last word, he cocked the gun's hammer.

I immediately froze, wanting to swipe that gun out of his hand, but at the same time paralyzed with the knowledge that I would pay for being so brash. Silently, I watched as the terrified girl gave him the food, her hands visibly shaking.

He placed the bag behind him into my unprepared arms; I almost dropped the entire thing.

"Don't shoot, please don't shoot," I whispered beneath my breath.

He cocked his head to the side, as though he'd heard my plea.

"Thank you, my dea_r_. But…I hope you don't give away _too_ many freebees, otherwise you might just get _fired_." A bullet blew the soft drink dispenser to pieces, spilling soda onto the counter and floor. With that, he slammed his foot on the accelerator, leaving the sound of screeching tires mingled with howls of laughter in our wake.

The bag, whose tantalizing aromas were beginning to make me salivate, warmed my hands and chest, as I'd held it protectively against my body when the car took off. Leaning back in the seat, I once again felt sleep trying to pull down my eyelids, but one thought would not allow me to relax in peace.

"You didn't shoot her," I mumbled.

He didn't answer me at first, but the smile he'd been wearing fell from his face. After a moment, he glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Yeah? And your _point_ is?"

"You were going to. Why didn't you?"

"Who are _you_ to say what I _was_ or _wasn't_ going to do? I do what I _want_ to do, and what I _wanted _to do obviously _wasn't_ shoo_t_ her, otherwise I _would_ have." He was sly, as he never actually said that he didn't want to shoot her. He was a man of his word, and I knew he couldn't lie. However, his answer didn't fool me, not a bit.

He had wanted to. I had felt it radiating off him, that awful yearning for malevolence, pain, and chaos that I'd warily become accustomed to when Jack wasn't himself. Sometimes during shows, the knives he threw would come too fast and a bit too close and actually graze me, sometimes he'd hold my throat too long in his hands that were squeezing much too tightly, and sometimes the laughter that was rehearsed for certain intervals would ring out too often and sound much too real. Everything he did became too much, and I knew that he had enjoyed it.

He had wanted to shoot that girl, but for some reason he didn't. I wasn't sure _why_ he didn't, but nonetheless, it made me smile.

**Like it? Hate it? Please leave a review and tell me what you think!**


	11. The Point of No Return

**Me and Gaara 4ever, Darkness Takes Over, Poison Maker, MCRxLover911, and Not Human, gosh I can't thank you enough for reviewing. Your words have been motivating me to write (type) much faster, and hopefully I can keep going at this speed.**

**Ok, I want to give Me and Gaara 4ever the award of the fastest post in the history of this story (hehe, can't spell history without story). I posted the last chapter, and then immediately afterward decided to include a disclaimer since I realized I hadn't done that in a while, and after I had reupdated, this girl had already read and reviewed! Hmm…maybe I'll hand out rewards at the end of the fic, like longest review, most amusing review, etc. I'm just gonna give out the fastest review award now, cause I don't think anyone could beat that. *hands Me and Gaara 4ever award with golden figurine of the Joker on top* Congratulations lol!**

**And Poison Maker drew a wonderful pic of Ragdoll/Jester a while back and gave me permission to put it up on photobucket, but due to me not spending much time on this story, and with the big move, I sort of forgot to post it. Now, it is finally up, and I think you guys should really take a look at it. I squeed when I saw it. Again, I did NOT draw it, it belongs to Poison Maker. Any other fan art I put up will not belong to me, as I can't draw to save my life lol. You can find the link on my profile.**

**Now, I am so proud of myself, cause this is my longest chappie by far, took up a whopping 12 pages on Microsoft word. That might not seem like a lot to some people, but it is for me lol. (wow this is the longest author's note I've done so far, sorry about that) Anyhoodles, on with the story!**

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Chapter 10: The Point of No Return

_I looked around the costume tent, fearful that the Joker might be waiting for me instead of Jack. A rack of clothing rustled, which almost sent me running outside, when Jack stepped out from behind the rack. A nervous smile crossed his features and he started towards me._

"_Stop," I ordered, clutching my outfit to my chest. "D-don't come any closer."_

_He sighed, but took a couple steps back. I looked closely at his face, and realized that he wasn't simply humoring me, but he was scared. No, Jack couldn't be scared; he wasn't afraid of anything…but the way he fidgeted and refused to meet my gaze told me otherwise. Something was definitely wrong, and it had to be more than just what happened the day before that was affecting him in such a way._

_Once he was finally able to look at me, it was with the saddest expression that I had ever seen on his face._

"_I'm leaving, Lina."_

I must have once again fallen asleep in the car, for I woke to find myself lying sprawled out on his bed. I rubbed my eyes and sat up, wincing when my head began to throb.

"Well, gooood morning, doll fa_c_e." He was shrugging into his jacket, peering down at something on the desk. "Ba-reakfa_st_ is uh, on the table."

I looked, and there sat my happy meal, seeming to stare right back at me.

"Hurry u_p_ and ea_t_. I've got some uh, things to do before tonight, and Randy is going to be taking you on a _little_ trip."

"For what?" I groggily made my way to the table and opened the paperboard container.

"You don't need to be drawing any…_excessive_ attention to your_sel_f, so I want you looking somewhat uh, normal. Randy is my right hand man…and errand boy, and he knows the shops and what's wha_t_, so I figure he's the _best_ one to ta_k_e you." He removed a pocket watch from his trouser pocket and studied it for a moment. "You got…fooour minutes."

I knelt on the bed and placed my hands on my hips. "So what, if I had still been asleep in four minutes, he would've just come in here and pulled me out of bed?"

Placing the watch back in his pocket, he looked at me so calmly, but then his face broke into a wide smile. "Uh, yep pretty much. Toodles!" He just laughed before opening the door and leaving. I hurried after him, throwing the door open to see him practically skipping down a staircase.

"Just so you know, that is so not cool!" My announcement only succeeded in making more of his laughter echo down the staircase behind him.

The landing in front of the bedroom door was virtually nonexistent, and I was left looking down an empty, narrow hallway. There was another door at the bottom of the staircase, which I didn't even check to see if it was unlocked. By then I had completely, if grudgingly, accepted Jester words; I couldn't bring myself to leave him.

I gobbled down my cold breakfast, and was just finishing when the bedroom door opened. In the doorway stood a man of average height and build, with not quite shoulder-length dark brown, shaggy hair and definite stubble on his chin, and he wore an olive green denim jacket and baggy jeans. He looked like he could've just gotten out of college.

Standing up and pushing in my chair, I said, "Are you Randy?"

"That's what the boss calls me," he muttered, "but you call me Randall." I noted that it wasn't an invitation or a suggestion, but a subtle demand. I made to walk towards him but he asked, "You sure you want to go looking like that?" He motioned towards his own head, and I remembered the gauze.

I hurried to the bathroom and proceeded to remove the bandaging in front of the mirror. A nice, neat line of stitches graced my reflection's forehead. I sighed; it wasn't as if I didn't have _enough_ stitches already.

As I walked back into the bedroom he asked, "Don't you got any shoes?"

I shook my head. "Hell, these aren't even my _clothes_. I don't have _anything_." That was all the answer he needed, for he turned around and began to descend the staircase. The door at the bottom led to another corridor, this one having several doors on one wall; there was only one opening on the other wall, which displayed an entire warehouse. A metal, spiral staircase was the only means of getting to the ground floor, and I soon found myself staring up at the high ceiling as we made our way across the crate-filled room. He led me through yet_ another_ door, which emptied into a garage large enough for the several black SUVs and small chartreuse car currently in there. To be honest, I knew semi trucks, pickups, vans, and SUVs. Everything else just fit into one big category: car.

He opened the back door and rummaged through several items before handing me a pair of pink sandals.

"Don't get them dirty. They belong to my girlfriend." He slammed the door shut and walked around to the driver side door. He got inside the car, motioning for me to do the same, and started the engine.

We sat at a red light for what felt like an eternity. To say that there was a comfortable silence between us would be lying; his hands clutched the steering wheel tightly, his shoulders were hunched forward, and he stared straight ahead, waiting for the moment when the light would turn green. I sat there with my hands in my lap, too nervous to move, as though the tension surrounding us was flammable gas and I was the match that would set the car aflame. But…perhaps I was a dud.

"So…Randall, how long have you been —"

"Don't." That one word was enough to clamp my lips together right away. "I don't know you. I want to keep it that way."

Now somewhat offended, I wondered what his problem with me was. "Did I…did I do something to you?"

"It's my day off, he _knows_ that." He slammed his hand against the steering wheel. "Then he calls me, when I finally get some time with my girl, and has me taking some floozy shopping on _my day off_."

"I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I didn't know about it until this morning either." He scoffed at this and rolled his eyes. "I didn't!" The term that he had used with which to label me had just registered. "And I'm not just some floozy either!"

"Yeah…yeah, I know you're not," he said sardonically. "You're that girl from the circus gig."

There was silence for a while, during which the tension seemed to dwindle a bit. He leaned back in his seat and loosened his hold on the steering wheel.

"So," he started, "you're really her?"

"Yeah," I murmured staring down at my hands, almost feeling like I should be ashamed for being "that girl."

He let out a sigh. "Me and the rest of the guys figured you were dead by now."

"What?" I looked up at him. "Why?"

"The boss usually has his fun and then gets rid of the body by himself." This time, it was his turn to look down. "We're not used to seeing them again." His tone was so low and sullen; I could feel a prickling sensation creeping up the back of my neck and my blood seemed to freeze at those words. "Them" meant more than one, probably many. Prostitutes, whores, and most likely normal women had fallen prey to the Joker. Gosh, I couldn't believe I called him that. However, it was the only thing that I _could_ call him, for right then at least.

"There must be something special about you," he muttered, then added with a smirk, "Or maybe you're just a really good fuck."

My eyes immediately widened and a blush spread across my face.

He must have seen my reaction, for he quickly said, "Shit, I'm sorry. It's none of my business what goes on between the boss and a girl. Damn it, _don't_ tell him I said that." We pulled into a parking space, and he cut the engine. The silence between us felt much more profound without that steady humming sound.

I stared at my hands, too embarrassed to look at him. I had spent the last fourteen years of my life unwillingly acting as a sex toy for an overweight swine. I refused to allow anyone to think of me in that light ever again, especially if that light was incorrectly focused on me. "You want to know the truth?" I gently tugged on one of the strings hanging from the sweatshirt's hood.

Reaching over my lap, he opened the glove compartment and pulled out a beanie and a pair of sunglasses. "Sure, what's the truth?" he asked offhandedly

"I may be a good…fuck." I uttered the word with a grimace. "But he wouldn't know that."

I could see just the smallest of smiles appear on his face. "Well, shit," he mumbled in amusement.

~*****~

My first trip to a mall had been interesting. Randall had given me a wad of bills, which was my limit. He followed me from a distance, and always waited outside each shop while I went about my business. I received quite a few odd looks from passersby, nearly all of them directed at my face. While I was used to this, I had pulled the sweatshirt's hood over my head early on into my shopping experience.

We pulled into the garage at about noon. This time, the ride was much more comfortable, and while few words were shared, none of them held the hostility from this morning.

I gathered several bags in my hands and was about to press the door handle when he said, "Look, I just want to apologize for the way I acted towards you earlier. It was nothing against you; I've just been kind of stressed lately, and the boss giving me no notice about this got me in a real bad mood."

"No, it's all right." I gave him a small smile, which he actually returned.

"I gotta go. Got some things to do, mainly apologize to my girl for bailing on her, before tonight."

With a slight nod in response, I left the car with my bags. I started to walk away, but his voice again stopped me.

"Hey!" he shouted, sticking his head out the window. I returned to the car, wondering what he wanted. "What's your name?" he asked.

At first, I just stood there, unsure of how I wanted to answer. My days of being in the circus were over, and so that part of my life was over as well. Here I was, with the chance to leave it all behind. Jack had always called me Lina, a nickname for a pseudonym, and the Joker would continue to call me that, if not Jester. Velina was gone, dead along with any other unfortunate souls who witnessed her final performance, and I wanted her to stay that way. It was time for me to move on, back to being just simple Lina, back to before my life went up in smoke.

"Lina," I said.

"Well, Lina," he smiled, "I'll see you tonight."

As I trudged back up to the room, I notices that the warehouse was quite empty, something that I was particularly grateful for. If the others (whoever they were) thought that I was dead, then I was sure they wouldn't exactly welcome some, as Randall put it, floozy, in their base of operations. I figured that the place would house much more life after darkness fell upon the city.

Setting my purchases beside the bed, I realized that "tonight" wouldn't come for several more hours. To bide my time, I decided to continue creating Jester's apparel. I began to create my corset, which I found completely distasteful since it was to be made of leather. Why leather? I just couldn't comprehend the fascination that men had with women dressed in leather.

**Well, I don't see anything wrong with it. You never know, it might grow on you.**

"The only thing that's ever grown on me is…" I smiled, remembering that I still had to put the last touches on the dress. However, at that moment, I had a hunk of green leather that I had to transform into a medieval torture device.

By the time I heard the bedroom door open, I had finished the corset, which was probably the most difficult piece of clothing I'd ever created. I was just adorning the neckline of the dress with black lace; I'd already done the same to the skirt and sleeves.

I cried out when his metallic toy pierced the back of my neck and I felt a sharp, stinging sensation burning across my shoulders and neck.

"Loo_k _at me," he growled. I turned to face him, wincing as this only made the blade dig in deeper. "I don't even get a "Hey? Welcome ba_ck_? Missed you? How _was your day_?" If I didn't know any better," he licked his lips, "I'd say you were…i_g_noring me."

The knife ran downward to the base of my neck, cutting a thin line all the way down. "Non!" I gasped, "N-no I wasn't!"

He brought the knife out of my neck and ran it around to the hollow above my chest. "Would you like to saaay something?"

"H-hi," I squeaked.

Giving me a wry smile, he dropped me back onto the bed. I pressed a hand to the back of my neck. My fingers were covered in crimson when I pulled away from the warm sensation streaming down my neck.

"Don't you go and get my clothes aaall bloody now, 'cause I won't appreciate tha_t_."

I hurried into the bathroom, grabbed a wad of toilet paper, and applied pressure to the pulsing crevice I'd received. Of course, he _would_ be more worried about his clothes than my wellbeing, considering that he was the reason I was bleeding. For a moment, I wondered if he was a sadist, which would explain why he enjoyed hurting me so much. Then I found that I wasn't particularly fond of the path that my thoughts were beginning to lead me down, and decided to leave my wonderings in the dark.

**You know, I was thoroughly enjoying that mental image. We really do look good in leather, Sweetheart.**

For once, I decided to ignore my inner voice and instead find company in the man who had just pierced me with the tip of a blade.

He was sitting at the desk, a cell phone in his hand.

"What–" He held up a finger as he dialed a few numbers.

"We leave in half an hour." With that, he waved me off. I took my bags into the bathroom, still nursing my neck, and closed the door behind me as I heard him begin to speak.

After taking a shower, I went through my purchases, cutting the tags off. I decided on a grey sweater, which I wore over a black tank top, and a pair of low-rise cargo jeans. I was happily now wearing some fitting undergarments, and I'd even been able to find a pair of boots for Jester's ensemble, which I put on. A large clip held back my damp ringlets, while my eyes were lined with liquid coal.

Timidly, I opened the bathroom door, wondering what he would think of the new, appropriately dressed, me. I caught him looking at me with something akin to approval. A pleasant warmth flared up within my chest.

"D-do you want me to get rid of these," I asked, gesturing to the stitches on my face.

"Of course no_t_, silly girl. Those be-a-_uty_ marks make you, make you so _unique_; I don'_t_ want you _ever_ getting rid of them. Besides, people need to know that you're my dollll."

My spirits fell. I hoped he would want me to remove them. I'd only kept them over the years because Gaston had threatened to go through the whole procedure all over again if I dared even remove one scar. My wounds had been so deep and many that I hadn't been able to perform for several weeks after he gave them to me; I didn't want to relive it. Now, once again I was forced to keep the marks that I couldn't stand to look at.

He placed something in my hand and folded my fingers over it. A blade protruded from my grasp; he had given me a knife. When I looked back up at him questioningly he only said, "You're not ready for a uh, gun yet." Then I remembered, I was supposed to act as his, for lack of a better word, bodyguard.

"S-so if someone tries to, you know, I…"

"Just run 'em through _nice_ and _good_," he finished for me, and that tongue brushed over his lips. I could feel anxiety begin to bubble up in my stomach at the thought of me actually having to kill someone, unpleasant to be sure. I pressed a hand to my stomach to suppress the slight nausea. I must have looked as bad as I felt, for he grabbed the back of my head and forced me to look at him. "Hey, _don't_ you go and get si_ck_ on me. Who knows, maybe you'll get lucky and they'll be good."

After giving me a clap on the back, he left the room and disappeared down the staircase. I slipped the knife into a jean pocket and loyally followed.

Randall was waiting for us in the garage, sitting at the wheel of one of the SUVs; two guys I'd yet to meet were sitting in back. They each looked me up and down, and I could see them start a bit when their eyes landed on my face. Either they found my scars unpleasant to look at, or they found them familiar; both cases were possible. The Joker sat beside Randall while I seated myself next to a guy with slightly mousy features and auburn hair. I noticed that he kept averting his eyes, yet those dark blue orbs would return to scrutinize my appearance. I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps the Joker had ever employed a woman before.

"Has Izzy got a location?" the Joker asked as we pulled out of the garage.

Randall shot me a glance in the review mirror before answering. "Yeah, Boss, he says he's at The Lucky Eight."

"Well, I can tell you _one_ thing." The Joker smiled, flipping open his switchblade. "This isn'_t_ his lucky nigh_t_."

The men exchanged more words throughout the ride, none of which made any sense to me, as I had no idea what the night held in store. However, I did learn that we were dealing with the mob, the plan included garbage bags, the guy who sat next to me was named Nicky, and beside him sat Terry, who greatly resembled Randall, except he appeared older and his hair was much shorter.

We pulled into an alley beside The Lucky Eight, which turned out to be a bar. Another car was already there; a guy was leaning against the side of the car, smoking a blunt. Before Randall had even cut the engine, Terry had climbed over the back seat and began digging through a box in the trunk. I looked behind the seat to see him pulling out black garbage bags.

The guy looked up as we parked behind the car, ground out the blunt with his heel, and approached the SUV. The Joker rolled down his window as the man stopped right outside the passenger door. He was a young black man with cornrows.

"You sure he's in there?" the Joker asked.

"Yeah, been there for maybe twenty minutes."

The Joker turned back to look at Nicky. "Tell her what's wha_t_, and then uh, get your ass _out here_." With that, he got out of the car and opened the trunk to join Terry.

Nicky hesitantly turned to me, his expression one of uncertainty. "Heh, the boss just said he was bringing along another pair of hands for the job, didn't say it was a girl." That statement confirmed my earlier thoughts; I supposed that these guys weren't used to working with a woman. "Anyway, first, only the boss calls me Nicky. I want you to call me Nick, just Nick." I was beginning to think that the Joker didn't call any of his men by their actual name. "Anyway, Izzy and Terrence are gonna go in first, and when I tell you, we bring in the boss."

"Bring him in?"

"You'll see," he smirked. "You can handle your own right? I mean, the boss just said he was bringing you in for extra security. Guess he thinks we might run into some trouble inside."

"Yeah, hopefully not," I muttered as Nick got out of the car.

A constant rustling sound had been occurring in the trunk during this conversation, and to my surprise, when I looked back the Joker was lying down almost completely wrapped in the garbage bags; only his head and shoulders were visible. He sent Terrence (I figured I should call him that) off to help Izzy with something, but I knew that he really just wanted to speak to me alone. He motioned for me to come closer, and I leaned over the seat.

"Listen to the boys, and do what_ever_ they tell you. Believe it or no_t_, they know what they're doing." He gave a small laugh at this."

"But what exactly _are_ we doing?" I felt so nervous walking into this plan without knowing what was going on.

He rolled his eyes; obviously, I should have figured everything out without any clues. "Well, I need an au-_di_-ence with Gambol, and this," he gestured to the garbage bag ensemble, "is the easie_st_ way in…besides, I can't wait to see him pissss his pants when I _pop_ out like a jack-in-the-_box_. Now, if Izzy's info is right, which _sometimes_ it isn't, we have enough guys to "dis_able_" whatever backup he's got in there, so you don't have to worry your li_tt_le head about them, got i_t_?"

I simply nodded in response.

"Gooood g_ir_l. Oh, and if I'm not still a_li_ve by the end of this," he slipped an arm out of his loose wrappings and pulled me forward by the collar of my sweater, "you will be in se-ri-ous _trouble_."

Another jerk on my collar sent me tumbling over the seat and into the trunk beside him. He just raised an eyebrow in amusement and ruffled my hair, laughing when I cringed. Terrence approached us, sparing me a glance of distaste.

"We're ready to go, Boss," he announced, putting a gun into a pocket on the inside of his jacket.

The Joker winked at me and slipped his arm back in the coverings. "Let's get _cr_acking." I caught a smile in my direction before Nick placed one last garbage bag over his head.

Nick slid his arms beneath the Joker's legs. "You get the torso," he muttered. I wondered if the Joker had specified that I would be the one to carry his torso. Perhaps he wanted someone he trusted closer to his head. I felt somewhat touched at that. He had been working with these guys for definitely some time, yet I had only been with him for just over a week and still he trusted me more. It never occurred to me that these thoughts had really no proof to base themselves on.

We followed Terrence and Izzy around to the building's entrance, and waited while they went inside. Years of training and acrobatics had strengthened my arms, so although I wasn't built, I didn't have any trouble holding up my half of the body.

If I was shaking, it was only because I was a nervous wreck.

**It'll be all right, Sugar. Just calm yourself down.**

I took in a few deep breaths and tried to piece myself together.

Not long after our comrades had gone inside, Terrence opened the door and gestured for us to come in as well. Nick and I walked in, carrying the supposedly deceased star of the meeting. Three black men sat at a bar, one stood beside Izzy, and two more stood on either side of a doorway. The crack of a billiard break sounded from past the doorway. The man beside Izzy smiled at the sight of our "delivery."

"I'm sure Gambol would be glad to see you," he surmised. He gestured towards two of the men sitting at the bar, who approached Nick and me and relieved us of the Joker's body. The other two near the doorway had disappeared into the room. The one who I supposed was in charge gave me a demeaning glare. "Little girls need to stay out here while the big men talk," he said in a patronizing manner. "Watch her," he directed at the only man still at the bar. Nick gave me a fleeting glance of uncertainty before following the others through the doorway.

I just stood there, torn between doing my job, and doing my job. I was supposed to make sure that nothing happened to the Joker, yet none of the men had objected to my staying behind, so technically by remaining there I was following orders. If I followed, I might disrupt whatever was going on in the other room and jeopardize the operation. I decided to stay put, throwing a wary glance over my shoulder at my guard. Still having no idea what this meeting was really about, as the Joker was definitely not actually dead, I wondered how things were going. I heard some faint sounds coming from the room, grunts and a couple thumps, and then the faint sound of the Joker's voice. Straining to listen to what was being said, I failed to take notice of the footsteps approaching me from behind. Strong arms closed around my chest and pressed me against my guard, who had no doubt heard the noises as well and was more than slightly suspicious.

"What's going on back there, precious?" he growled. "Your friends trying to double cross us?"

I stomped down on his foot h — hard — and elbowed him in the gut. His arms released me and I immediately darted away.

"You fucking bitch, you know what you just did?" Even though his voice wasn't loud, it didn't fail to intimidate me. Not for the first time in my life, I feared that I was about to die. He cracked his knuckles before coming after me.

I bent over backwards just in time to watch his fist pummel the air where my head had been, and continued back until I felt my boots clip him in the jaw and I was on my feet once more. He stood there for a moment during which he shook off the blow before lunging at me again.

**The knife, Honey, get the knife!**

Quickly, I pulled the knife out of my pocket and opened the blade just as he was on me. Blindly, I drove the knife forward several times and waited for a fist to connect with me. The blow never came.

Opening my eyes, I saw that I had, well, run him through nice and good, so to speak. The blade was buried to the hilt in his abdomen, and crimson was gushing out of the wounds, down his jacket and pants, pooling on the floor. Crimson ran down the knife and stained my hands, my hands were covered in crimson, so much crimson on the floor, on my hands, on the body lying on the ground, on my hands, crimson hands.

The knife clattered to the ground as I fell back onto my bottom. Crimson waves crashed against my boots, painted the toes crimson, crimson hands drawing my knees up to my chest, crimson handprints on my denim knees, crimson denim staring at my crimson hands, hiding my face with crimson, crimson hands, crimson tears running down my crimson face and crimson screams against my crimson knees.

Two crimson arms scooped me off the crimson ground and held me against a warm body. I clung to the crimson lapels on the body's coat, which smelt of greasepaint, crimson gasoline, and gunpowder. I swayed with the crimson body's movements, and a cool breeze passed over my wet crimson face.

My back crashed against a crimson cushion, and I stared up at a grey ceiling, my crimson hands now clutching empty air instead of the odd-smelling lapels. The padding beneath me began to gently vibrate, accompanied by a faint crimson rumbling. I closed my crimson eyes and sniffled while soft crimson music floated through my ears.

The crimson padding beneath my back stopped rumbling, and the music ended its crimson drifting. A weight laid itself on my crimson abdomen.

"Heeey," a crimson voice whispered, and the back of a crimson glove ran down my face. "Heeey, shh, shh, it's okay," the voice cooed. Crimson hiccupping sounds continued to spill from my mouth, and I sniveled ungraciously, placing my crimson hands on legs that straddled me. "Sto_p_, _stop_ c_r_ying." The words were only a crimson murmuring in my ear, a whisper of crimson smoke that filled my head.

A slap resonated against my face, whipping my head to the side. I blinked my watery eyes several times, hiccupping and choking on tears when I saw a grim white face with black eyes staring at me. I felt myself shrink within my body, retreat from that disappointed yet alarmed gaze.

"_Stop_ i_t_," he grabbed my chin in an iron grip, putting an end to my sniffling. "I told you to _stop_ c_r_ying."

I willed myself to contain my raging emotions, to suppress my thoughts. While my tears did subside, I could not quiet my thoughts, which would not stop reminding me that I had just killed a man. I had ended a life, and while the action had been performed in self-defense, I couldn't help but feel that I had no right to do such a thing. A human life was no more…because of me. I fought back the nausea that threatened to consume me and break free from my mouth. I had to understand that what I did could never be undone. I could not take back my actions, and I wouldn't be able to wash that man's blood from my hands, not completely.

I let out a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding, and tried to sit up only to find that he was still straddling me.

"Merci," I whispered.

"Feel be_tt_er?" he asked, and I detected a flicker of genuine concern in his tone. My only answer was a simple nod, which was good enough for him, as he climbed off me and out of the car. His gloved hand closed around mine and pulled me into a sitting position. I slid off the seat, receiving a slight head rush when my feet touched the ground and I stood. I placed a hand, the one not clutching his, to my forehead in order to stop the dizzying sensation. I could've sworn that I felt him gently squeeze my hand before his lips pressed against my cheek; abruptly, he lumbered out of the garage before I could respond. Both acts of affection were so quick, that it was possible I had simply imagined them.

I looked to see Randall watching me over the hood of the SUV, and the amused smile he wore told me that I hadn't imagined anything. He walked around the car and put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

"Rough night, but the first time's the hardest." He gave an odd half-smile. "Welcome to the team, Lina." With that, he got into his car and pulled out of the garage.

For a while, I just stood there, thinking. I could never take back what I had done that night, and it would never be "the first time" ever again. I knew that there would be more, even though I hoped in vain that there wouldn't be. I had passed the point of no return, I had murdered a man…just like the others undoubtedly had. I really was part of the team now; I had just passed my initiation. The Joker had given me a glimpse of his Hell, and I knew that I was there to stay. As I entered the warehouse and made my way back to the bedroom, I held a hand to my cheek and knew that there was no turning back.

________________________________________

**Non = No**

**Merci = Thank you**

**Like it? Hate it? Just take a minute and review, I know you guys are out there!**


	12. Straight to Video

**No Human, Poison Maker, Darkness Takes Over, and DemolitionxLover911, thank you so much for reviewing!!! *hugs to my lovely readers***

**Well, having moved into my college dorm with nothing to do, I was able to produce this chappie in much quicker than usual. Unfortunately, classes start tomorrow, and I'm not sure how much time I will have to write. First semester is the most important, so right now school will have to come before the story, and for this I deeply apologize. I worked my butt off to get this chappie done in time to tie you over until I finally get another one done amidst schoolwork, so I hope you enjoy it! There may be some typos, cause it's 2 in the morning here and I AM TIRED. And remember, reviews will make me soooooooo happy and stop me from losing my will to write, so review please! **

**Oh, and Poison Maker has whipped up another brilliant piece of artwork, and tomorrow I will put the link to it on my profile, I'm just too exhausted to do it tonight…this morning, however you see it.**

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Chapter 11: Straight to Video

Sleep did not come easily. By the time I'd arrived upstairs, he was already passed out on the bed, still completely dressed except for his overcoat and jacket, which were lying over the back of a chair. I unzipped my boots and stowed them beneath the desk, picked up his coat, and sat down. After taking the clip out of my hair, I pulled my sweater over my head and formed it into a soft pile on the desk in front of me. Wrapping his coat around me, I reveled in that scent that always seemed to surround him: gasoline, greasepaint, and gunpowder, mixed with something else. I didn't know what that something else was, maybe it didn't even exist, and I was simply imagining it. Real or not, I liked it. I scooted the chair in and rested my head on my sweater.

When I say that sleep did not come easily, I mean that it would not _stay_ easily. Both my body and mind were so fatigued, and I shut down practically the moment that my head hit the…sweater. However, my slumber was filled with images from that night, and countless times I awoke with bloody thoughts circulating through my mind. I never woke screaming, but always breathing heavily, my face and arms coated in a thin layer of sweat. I had seen many horrors throughout my life, and yet I had never been haunted by one so persistently. Why? None of those acts had ever been placed at my fault.

At one point, I was tempted to lie down beside him, but the knowledge of what would await me in the morning was enough to still such yearnings. Instead, I simply moved my sleeping arrangements to the floor, and though it was cold, at least I was lying down.

Somehow, I managed to remain asleep for a lengthy period, and when I next opened my eyes it was to find the bedroom bathed in sunlight and an actual pillow beneath my head. I sat up, feeling the mattress springs respond beneath me. His coat was gone, and so was he. Oddly enough, this discovery somewhat disappointed me. At that moment, I didn't want to be alone.

I noticed a sticky note on the pillow beside me:

_Downstairs, first door on the left._

_-Randy_

At first, I didn't quite understand the note. But then I figured that he was talking about the hallway that emptied into the warehouse. Perhaps he wanted me to pay a visit to that room, but for what reasons I had no idea. Before leaving, I went into the bathroom. When I saw my reflection, I blanched. Crimson fingerprints stained my face. I remembered that the blood didn't belong to me, and I made it to the toilet just before I upchucked my stomach's contents, which wasn't much considering that I hadn't eaten in at least twenty-four hours.

For an hour, I scrubbed my entire body raw in the shower, never feeling completely clean. Afterward, I changed into sweatpants and a t-shirt, throwing on the hoodie for good measure. I journeyed downstairs and knocked on the first door, waiting with my hands in the sweatshirt's front pocket. I heard a low groan come from the other side of the door, and slow, heavy footsteps approached.

The door swung open and there stood Randall, dressed only in a t-shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair rumpled and eyes sleepy. He blearily looked at me, and then widened his eyes when he fully realized who was standing in front of him.

"H-hey, Lina. What do you need?"

I held up the piece of paper. "You left a note."

At first, he didn't seem to understand. Then he gave a short laugh and said, "Damn, I left that there yesterday after the boss left." He gestured for me to come inside, and I followed, looking around the room with interest. In one corner sat a twin-sized bed, in another there was an old dresser, and a small table with two chairs sat near a window that was boarded shut.

"He…he left? Yesterday? No, no I was with him last night. You were there."

He laughed again. "Girl, I haven't seen you since I went home after the job at the Lucky Eight, which was two nights ago." I just stared at him dumbly. "Have you been asleep all that time?"

I rubbed the back of my neck and glanced down at the floor. "Yeah…I guess so."

"Hungry?" He pulled a pizza box off the dresser and tossed it onto the table. I nodded and eagerly grabbed a piece of pizza. "Eat up, 'cause the boss said he'd skin me alive if I didn't take good care of you. I've officially been promoted from errand boy/driver to guardian, for the time being."

"Where is he?" I asked between mouthfuls of cold cheese and pepperoni.

"Dunno, sometimes he just leaves for a while. Might be from a couple hours to a few weeks. He says to call if there's an emergency, but we try to make sure that there aren't any." He winked at me and sat across from me, grabbing a slice.

Something that I'd wanted to ask him suddenly entered my mind. "Hey, I'm curious, are you and Terrence related?"

"Don't remind me," he grumbled.

"No offense, but he doesn't seem very nice."

"Yeah, well…" he gave a half smile, "he's always pissy 'cause I'm younger than him and second-in-command, if you will."

"Second-in-command?"

"If anything happens to the boss, or he's gone for a while, I'm in charge."

The sound of thoughtful chewing filled the room for a while, during which he looked at me as if he wanted to ask something, but was too afraid to do so. In the end, he scrounged up enough courage to ask:

"So, why are you still here?"

"Huh?" I grabbed another slice.

"I mean, why has the boss kept you around for this long? It's almost been two weeks since the circus job."

I took a bite, thinking of an answer to that.

Jack—the Joker (I really didn't know what to call him) had given me something equivalent to a home, and I couldn't completely understand why. The moment that van left the circus grounds, he had fulfilled his promise. He had come back for me, and he had saved me. He could've dumped me on the street that very same night and been done with me. Everything that he was doing now was icing on the cake.

"I really don't know."

He only smiled. "Well, whatever it is, I'm glad."

"Why?"

"'Cause, you make him different, good different. Like a couple nights ago, if what happened to you happened to someone else, he woulda just kicked 'em and told 'em to get the hell up off their ass. It's like he actually gives a shit about you." He laughed and went back over to the dresser. He dug around through the top drawer and brought something out. "But maybe I'm just assuming things." He held out what was in his hand, a deck of cards. "Rummy?"

~*****~

It was in this way that I spent the next four days. One of the other rooms held a television set and a moth-eaten armchair and sofa. Randall and I would sometimes watch the news, seeing if any activity of the Joker would be reported. At times, other men would come to and from the warehouse, but they never bothered me. Perhaps my presence made them wary.

I slept as little as possible. Every time I drifted into the realm of slumber, my dirty conscience would haunt me until I woke, sometimes crying. The first time I woke screaming, Randall had rushed into the room, thinking that I was in trouble. I'd explained my sleeping issues, and assured him that if I needed help I would come downstairs and find him.

I only experienced my brief naps during the day, when I was alone in the bedroom. I would always rub myself raw in the shower before dressing and going downstairs, where Randall would order something for lunch or dinner, and we would play cards and talk until some point in the early morning. He was a nice guy, and I relished the time I spent with him. He didn't tease me, or hurt me, though as he was my guardian I didn't expect him to, and it was a nice change. However, I had to admit that I did miss the Joker. His presence was a comfort even when he was in a violent mood, and frustratingly I knew that I was becoming somewhat attached to him again.

I had just lost another game of Egyptian Rat Screw, on account of the fact that there were too many rules to remember, when Randall asked, "You hear what's going on tomorrow?"

I threw all my cards down on the table, which brought out an amused smile from him. "No, enlighten me," I huffed.

He took a sip from a bottle of beer. "The mob hearing."

Batman had brought an accountant in from Hong Kong, who apparently had the entire mob's life savings hidden somewhere, and his information had led to the arrest of five hundred forty-nine criminals.

Batman, he was another figure I'd heard of. If one thing was certain, gossip travels fast amongst circus folk. The masked vigilante had received quite a few laughs from those with which I associated myself. I had only found the stories of a grown man who dressed up as a flying rodent and played superhero to be slightly disturbing. If not for the fact that I was already acquainted with the Joker, I most likely would have reacted in the same manner when told such rumors about _him_.

Randall set his cards down much more neatly than I had, and gathered all the cards into one pile.

As I watched him take another sip from the bottle, it reminded me of something that I'd been meaning to ask him. "You know that bottle you dropped off at City Hall yesterday?"

He looked at me over the top of his beer. "Yeah?"

"What was it for?"

He gave an odd smile. "The boss knows a guy who works down there and wanted me to give him a present for the Commissioner."

"And the package at MCU? What was it?"

He seemed hesitant to speak, as though he wasn't sure if I should know. "A Joker card."

I decided to leave it at that, as I could tell he didn't appreciate my questioning.

He yawned and set his cards down much more neatly than I had. "Shit, I'm tired.

He sent me away, and I trudged up to the bedroom, where I reluctantly allowed sleep to claim me.

~*****~

I woke to the sound of someone screaming. To my shame, it was my own voice that roused me. Placing a hand to my heaving bosom, I tried to calm my rapid breathing, feeling my heart pound against my rib cage. Another pounding accompanied the one occurring within my chest: footsteps coming up the staircase.

The bedroom door burst open, bringing a shriek from my lips. There he stood, one hand gripping the doorframe while the other threateningly held a knife. Mouth set in a grim line of agitation, he scanned the room with murderous eyes. When he found only my lone form huddled on the bed, he lowered the knife and idly tapped his fingers against the doorframe.

"Y'know, doll, I've heard a _lot_ of screaming in my day, and usually it's 'cause _some_one's dying. But…you don't _seem_ to be _dy_ing." He calmly approached the bed and grabbed my chin, turning my head side to side to inspect me from several angles. "In fact, you look jus_t_ _fine_." He pressed the blade against my throat and his tongue flicked out. "I can uh, chan_ge_ tha_t_ if you wan_t_." Then, surprisingly, he turned and hurled the knife across the room, where it landed in the wall with a dull thud.

"I don't, do no_t_ like false a_lar_ms."

For a moment, I wondered if he had been worried about me. However, I dismissed such notions, as I didn't enjoy dwelling upon what his feelings toward me might be. He had asked me to be his Jester, and by that, he most likely meant partner. Although, _that_ had several different meanings all to itself. He hadn't been concerned over my wellbeing; he most likely only thought that someone had broken into his base of operations.

He retrieved his knife from the wall and spun around to glare at me. "Sooo, what's the problem? Did a uh, itty _bitty_ mouse scare you? Or maybe a spiiiider? No…I know _that_ look." He absentmindedly twirled the knife in his hand while he approached the bed. "Little Lina had a nigh_t_mare, that made her piss her _un_derwear," he said in a singsong voice, reciting the rhyme that he once used to tease me with; I frequently had nightmares when I was younger, and they were sometimes accompanied by bet wettings. I turned away from him, hiding the blush that spread across my cheeks. "Oh, come _on_," he pushed my shoulder until I faced him; "can't you take a _joke_?"

After Jack left, there hadn't been anything to laugh at, nothing to smile for. As long as he had been with me, I'd felt that there was some good in the world, something to look forward to. He had tried to shield me from the horrors that the world had to offer, and once that shield was gone, all the corruption seemed so much more apparent. Even after he disappeared, I'd hoped that he would keep his word, and I put a brave front forward through my struggles; as the years went by, my optimism faded until there was nothing left of it. Once I was sure that he'd forgotten about me, I stopped resisting the shadows that swarmed around me and everything fell to pieces. I hadn't laughed in a long time.

"My sense of humor is not what it once was," I deadpanned.

He seemed displeased by my answer. "And why oh why is tha_t_?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Turns out that there was nothing to laugh at."

He just stared at me for several minutes, seeming like he wanted to say something, studying me as though seeing me for the first time. When he finally did speak, it wasn't with laughter or a witty comeback.

"Maybe, maybe you _do_ get i_t_," he murmured and licked his lips. The comment's meaning completely eluded me, though by the way he spoke, it must have been somewhat profound. Our moment, if it could be called that, ended shortly, when he stood and lumbered over to the table, where Jester's dress was neatly folded. He picked up the article of clothing by the collar and allowed it to unfold. "You're a smart cookie; I _like_ that."

I couldn't understand what I had said or done that suddenly made me appear as being smart in his eyes, but I didn't argue with his latest observation. When he next looked at me, it was with a large grin that slightly unnerved me.

"I've changed my min_d_. You're coming with _me_ tonight," he said eagerly.

"What —"

"No, you are. That's i_t_." He checked his watch and appeared surprised when he realized what time it was. "It's aaalmost time to uh, move ou_t_." He tossed the dress into my lap. "Go get uh, _ready_, fast." I looked over at the digital clock before taking my things into the bathroom, unsure of why he didn't simply do the same; it was 8:27.

~*****~

I stared at my reflection, twirling a lock of copper hair around my finger. Charcoal-rimmed eyes stared back at me and purple lips smiled impishly.

**Simply beautiful, Darling.**

For once, I had to agree with her. I zipped my boots that reached midway up my calf before performing one last experimental twirl. My skirt stayed down for the most part due to the fabric I used. The grin on my face vanished when I remembered what had happened the night before.

"I don't know what he has planned, but I don't think I can do it without you. I can't have a repeat of last night."

**Oh, all right then.**

I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, fingering the edge of my skirt as I allowed myself to fall into Jester's welcoming embrace. I felt myself swimming through velvety layers of courage and rascally laughter, warm and inviting. Confidence flowed through my veins and a small giggle left my lips. At that moment, any qualms I had left me and I couldn't wait to get started with the night's events.

"Hello?" I whispered experimentally. I received no answer, which only made me smile even more. It was a tradeoff; when we became joined as one, I gained her courage and lost her presence in my head. Now that I was Jester, my thoughts were hers.

Humming softly to myself, I opened the door and peeked into the bedroom. There he stood, scribbling a pen across a notepad on the desk as he murmured incomprehensibly into his cell phone. Tentatively, I stepped into the bedroom, hooked a boot behind the other, and held my hands behind my back as I waited for him to turn around. When he seemed to be preoccupied by his phone conversation, I cleared my throat in the hopes of catching his attention. He briefly glanced at me before returning his gaze to the notepad. Then, he froze, dropped the pen, and slowly lifted his head to look at me.

"I'll be right there," he muttered before snapping the phone shut. In less than five steps, he was in front of me. A low whistle left his red lips as his eyes traveled up from my boots to my pigtails. I giggled as roses bloomed in my cheeks, quite flattered by his reaction. His eyebrows rose amusedly in response to my laughter.

"You, my li_tt_le Jessster, are a work of _art_."

I reached forward, noting that his eyes watched me warily, and straightened out his coat's collar. "You don't look so bad yourself." Again, he raised a brow, but made no comment. Turning away from me, he made his way out the room and down the staircase.

Down in the warehouse, several of his men were seen going into the garage with boxes and later coming out empty-handed. I recognized Nick and Terrence, who were overseeing the process. Once they caught sight of the Joker, they joined the others; I assumed that he had told them to watch things while he checked on me.

"What are we doing?" I whispered to him.

"_I_ have been hired by the mob to uh, dispose of the Ba_t_ Man, in _my_ way of choosing, of course. They were a bit…_un_en-thu-siasti_c_ about the idea at _fir_st, but uh, when the Bat brought back their s_quea_ling little ticket to the _slammer_, they saw the light." He turned to me. "_You_, my little cream_puff_, are going to help."

"But, what exactly are we doing right now?"

"Ahh, so full of questions tonigh_t_, aren't you?" He put an arm around my shoulders "Well, if you _must_ know, I haven't had any luck in finding the bat ye_t_. So, if I can't go to _him_, I'm going to ma_k_e him come to _me_."

"By?"

He put his face only inches away from mine and licked his lips. "Crea_t_ing a little…chao_sss_."

The next thing I knew, I was in an SUV with the same company from the night before, except Terrence was absent. He had been set to drive one of the other cars. Apparently, those boxes were filled with explosives, mostly grenades. Each SUV would cover a different four-block radius, depositing (by that I mean throwing) grenades near cars, fire hydrants, and whatnot. Whichever vehicle attracted Batman's attention first would radio the others with their position. Apparently, the Joker only wanted to capture Batman, instead of kill him as I had at first thought.

My job was simple; once a grenade left the Joker's, or Nick's, hand, I was to replace it immediately. Whenever an explosion went off, the Joker would let out a howl of laughter, and sometimes I found myself joining in. At those times, he would glance at me in the review mirror and smile in an amused yet satisfied manner.

However, the plan did not go quite, well according to plan, as it were. While the police showed up and managed to take down one of the SUVs, no one spotted the bat. Perhaps he had gone on holiday; that thought made me giggle, a bat on holiday. As more time went by and my supply of grenades became smaller and smaller, the Joker's patience dwindled as well.

When I was down to the final box, the Joker pulled a small video camera out of the glove compartment and growled, "Sto_p_ the car." Eyes wide and unsure due to the faint sound of sirens, Randall pulled over to the sidewalk.

The Joker opened his door and got out of the vehicle, slamming the door in annoyance.

"Boss, what's going on?" Randall asked, glancing back with apprehension.

"I feeeel like ta_k_ing a stroll." He opened my door and looked at me. "Care to uh, join me?"

"Of course." I deposited the box in Nick's lap and bounced out of my seat.

"Get ou_t_ of here, and get ba_ck_ to the house without _anyone_ seeing. I want Terry back there too, _n_ow."

"Sure thing, Boss," he muttered, and drove away without another word.

The sirens drew nearer, and he grabbed my arm as he took off down the sidewalk; we went down a ways before he pulled me into an alley. Pressing me up against the brick wall, his arms closing me in, he waited. My eyes fluttered shut when he pressed himself into me and our chests collided. He was breathing heavily; when I opened my eyes, I could see him watching the road, his entire manner tense. I slowly slid my hands up his chest and rested them on his shoulders. When he looked down at me questioningly, I leaned my forehead against his chest.

The sirens blared in my ears, and red and blue lights glinted in my peripheral vision. No, they were going to find us and take him away from me. I gripped the material of his coat. I couldn't lose him again!

"_What?"I took a step back out of shock. "Why?"_

_He looked down at his shoes. "Do you really need to ask?"_

"_It's ok," I said, looking down and scuffing my feet against each other. "It was only the first time—"_

"_That I did anything," he snapped. I looked back up at him and met his steely gaze. "You don't know how hard it's been lately, trying to keep my hands off you. I want to hurt you Lina, I-I want to kiss you and fuck you, and kill you, so much. But I can't, I-I won't! I couldn't hold it back yesterday, it was too much." He tangled his hands in his hair and pulled at his green-tinged locks. "God, I just want to wrap my hands around your throat and fuck you to death…no, no I don't!" He stared at me pleadingly. "I don't, Lina, he-he's twisting everything around and making me think and do things and--and I can't stop him."_

"_So you're leaving," I whispered, trembling at the sight before me. He seemed so broken, so weak, nothing like the Jack that I knew._

"_I have to, Lina. It's my only choice."_

"_Take me with you!" I cried, holding back pained tears. _

"_No." His tone was cold, set in stone._

"_Why not? Without you here, there's going to be nothing stopping him from getting to me every night. I need you!" This time the tears escaped from my eyes._

"_No, Lina, you don't need me. You barely snapped me out of it yesterday. Next time you may not be so lucky, and I won't be able to live with myself if that next time ends with you getting your throat cut."_

_I sank to my knees, the situation staring me full in the face. He could kill me, he could kill me, but I couldn't stand to see him leave. I heard something land in front of me, and, looking up, I saw him kneeling in front of me. I didn't care that he could hurt me; I flung myself at him and sobbed into his chest as his arms encircled around me._

Slowly, he backed away from me, and I released a breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding. There were tears in my eyes, and I blinked rapidly to clear my vision. I felt myself coming down from my impish high, and closed my eyes. Taking a few deep breaths, I was able to regain some of my earlier confidence, but it was nothing compared to the previous giddiness I'd experienced. The police cars had passed though; they hadn't found us.

"What are we doing?" I asked, watching as he poked his head around the side of the building.

He turned back to me and rolled his eyes. "I said that I wanted to take a _walk_. Maybe if we're lu_ck_y, the Ba_t_ Man will make uh, make an a-_ppear_-ance while I'm out in the o_p_en," he lilted. He grasped my hand, and I felt a smile dancing upon my lips as he led me down the sidewalk once more.

"But where are we going?" I cried as he tugged me along behind him.

"Haven't you e_v_er heard the saying that 'it's about the _journey_, not the des_ti_nation'? That's one poin_t_ where we ga-_reatly_ differ. Actually, we differ on most points." He waved his hand dismissively. "Anyway, _I_ care about the journey, while _you_ care about the destination, which is why we, why we worked so wellll together. Because I still got to have _fun_ while you ju_st_ pointed me in the right di-_rec_-tion. But right now, there _is_ no destination. We are just…"

A dark figure stepped out from an alley and for a moment, it looked like…

"Ah, it's the Ba_t_ Man," he exclaimed. "Just the guy I was looking for."

"Freeze!" called the black-clad man, and he raised a gun at us. I should have known that we would run into the police, what with all the mischief he was causing. But…he wasn't wearing a badge, and he didn't call for backup or anything.

"Huh, last time I che_ck_ed, the Ba_t_ wasn't a _gunner_." He put his arm around me and pulled me close against him. "Put that down, _ju_nior, or someone _will_ be getting hurt."

Quite afraid that one of us was about to be shot, I did the only thing that I could think of to get us out of this: I performed. Pushing against the Joker, I cried, "Please, please help me!" In a flash, his knife was against my throat.

"What are _you_ _do_ing?" he growled through gritted teeth.

I glanced up at him and gave a subtle wink before continuing. "I've been his prisoner! He-he dresses me up and makes me do things!" I could feel crocodile tears rolling down my cheeks as I struggled against him, but I could see worry mix with the alarm already showing clearly on the man's face. He fell for it.

The man tightened his hold on his gun. "Let her go," he calmly ordered, his eyes betraying the agitation that his voice sought to hide.

"_Not_ likely, _copy_bat," the Joker sneered.

"Let her go now!"

I elbowed him in the gut, and he released me, either on purpose or out of reflex; I couldn't tell which it was. I ran over to the man, tripping over my feet in my haste to get behind him.

"You're safe now, kid," he murmured, eyes still focused on the Joker.

"Thank you," I cried, sniffling in order to add to the effect. Then, making sure that the Joker was watching, I raised one leg up until I was practically doing the splits vertically. "If only the same could be said for you." Giggling, I slammed my heel down on his head. He immediately crumpled to the ground at me feet, and I smiled, quite proud of myself.

The Joker looked from me to the unconscious cop, then back up to me, surprise quite apparent in his eyes. A grin slowly curved up the sides of his face as he pocketed his knife and came forward. He knelt on the ground, picked up the man's gun, and handed it to me. After grasping one of the man's hands in his own, he gestured for me to do the same. Still wearing that grin, he said, "Come on. I've got an idea."

Together, we dragged the unfortunate Batman impersonator, he walking hurriedly with purpose and I trying to figure out what was going to happen. Being in the Narrows, we didn't run into anyone else, as it was anything but wise to stay out after dark in those parts, or so I had heard; being with the Joker, I didn't worry about getting into any trouble.

I was no closer to understanding what was going on in his head when he stopped in the back of a warehouse; an odd smell hung in the air. Our only adversary to get inside was an old padlocked chain going through the handles of two large doors. He sighed, obviously insulted by such a feeble security system. He dropped our captive's hand, took out a gun, and blew apart the chain as though it was made of paper. With a smirk, he opened the doors and made his way inside, leaving me to bring the body in by myself.

The scent grew stronger as I stepped over the threshold. Boxes, both flat and open, were stacked along the walls, and long tables sat in the middle of the room, covered in yellow and maroon stains. I was beginning to form an idea as to exactly where we were, and he confirmed my thoughts when he opened a door leading into a somewhat smaller room.

I almost gagged as the pungent stench of pork penetrated my nostrils. Rows of torn open pig carcasses hung from the ceiling by chains, and carts holding trays of fresh cuts rested against the walls. A few chairs sat around a table that was also covered in stains.

Dragging our captive, I made my way into the smaller room and closed the door behind me. The Joker had scrounged up a long piece of cord and placed a chair in a corner of the room. He gestured for me to prop the man up in the chair while he messed around with the video camera. I rolled my eyes, quite annoyed with him by that point. The guy had to have weighed at least two hundred pounds, and I had already dragged him through the building by myself. I would have gladly traded him for the video camera; however, I kept my mouth shut.

Once our "prisoner," as I had dubbed him, was sitting bound to the chair, the Joker handed me the camera and went about waking him up. A few light slaps to the face didn't work, so he took out a knife and set it between the man's slack lips. I watched from behind as the Joker slowly pressed the blade into the corner of his mouth; the guy's eyes, somewhat hidden by his crooked cowl, flashed open and he jerked away, causing the blade to slightly cut into his cheek. At first, he seemed confused and disorientated, but when he eyes landed on the Joker, he started.

"The Joker," he stated, and I silently applauded his exceptional skills of deduction.

"You were…expe_ct_ing someone _eeelse_?" he asked.

Our prisoner didn't respond.

"What's the matter? Ca_t_ go_t_ your tongue?"

No response.

I could see that the Joker was definitely irritated, as he never appreciated receiving the silent treatment. He squatted down in front of the chair and gripped the man's chin. When the guy averted his eyes, the Joker struck him upside the head with the knife's handle.

"Hey, _hey_ I want you to _answer_ me when I as_k_ you a question, _got_ it?"

The prisoner nodded.

"Good." He pocketed his knife and stood, towering over the man. "Now, you are _very_ lu_ck_y, because I have chosen _you_ to uh, help me with a little…video pro_ject_. You see, I want to send the _lovely_ people of Gotham a messssage, so I'm gonna ask you a few, just a few questions, and you're going to _an_swer them, al_right_? Alright."

Our prisoner looked over at me, and I smiled and waved my fingers at him. He grew angry at my gesture, most likely recalling who I was at that moment.

"Ah, I see you re_mem_ber my little Jessster." The Joker wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Isn't she a bea-_uty_?" The man the Joker's earlier words in mind, and simply nodded his head. With a grin, the Joker released me and pushed me away. "Sorry, sweet_heart_, but you're no_t_ in this scene." He turned away from the man to face me. "But when I uh, give you the _sig_nal, I want you to _cut_." On the final word, he made a slicing motion across his neck and jerked his head back toward our prisoner. At first, I didn't understand what he meant, but the underlying command quickly made itself known when he reached into his pocket and drew out a knife, which he placed in my hand. I recognized it as the blade I had previously used, and the corners of my mouth twitched with the ghost of a smile.

My reaction startled me, as I shouldn't have associated any pleasant feelings with those instructions.

"Where do you want me to go?" I quietly asked.

He pondered over this for several moments and then said, "Just _st_ay out of the camera's waaay."

I sat down on a small portion of the table that was free of stains, and watched as the Joker asked our prisoner, whose name was Brian, several questions and thoroughly intimidated him to the point that he was whimpering like a frightened puppy. Once the Joker pointed the video camera at his own face and began to walk about the room, I skipped from place to place in order to avoid being captured by the camera as well.

He spoke of how Batman must remove his mask and reveal to the public who his true identity was. Until then, people would die every day, and I assumed they would die by the Joker's hand. But the first victim would perish at my hands; as I came to stand behind Brian, an odd sense of honor filled me. The Joker was allowing me to begin the execution of his promise to Gotham City. I remembered how he saved me from the hellish world I'd been living in and how he gave me a home when I had lost hope of either thing occurring. I had to repay him, and I knew then how I could do so. I would be his Jester through and through, and perform my part as though my very life depended on it.

The Joker began to laugh hysterically as he lowered the video camera and nodded in my direction. With a smile on my face and a giggle escaping my lips as well, I ignored my protesting conscience and slashed the knife across our screaming prisoner's throat.

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**Like it? Hate it? Please review and tell me what you think!**


	13. Don't Believe

**Poison Maker, Laurenmlbc, Darkness Takes Over, and anime_and_toons, thank you guys soooo much for your reviews! They me so happy and are the reason that I'm still writing! I'm sorry that it took me so long to write this, but I'm doing so much writing for my classes that when I finally get some time to work on this, I'm all writed (sp?) out. Cause of my limited time to work on this story, I can either post shorter chappies, which will probably be about the size that the first few chappies were, or I can continue to post larger ones like I was starting to do, but those will take a lot longer than they used to. So, I put up a pole on my profile for you guys to vote on which method of updating you would prefer. And I tweaked the 5th chappie, 4th if you don't count the prologue, just in the section where Lina is remembering how Jack got his scars. Just letting you guys know in case anyone wants to check it out. ****And the link to Poison Maker's wonderful piece of fanart is on my profile, you guys need to go see it, in fact I command you! Cause it's like pure awesomeness!**

**Poison Maker: Be patient, the party scene is coming soon, I've got some of it done already :)**

**anime_and_toons: Though I appreciate the bribery (I luff cookies!), I dunno if they ever will Rock the Casba, so to speak. It all depends on where this story goes, even I don't know what's gonna happen next sometimes.**

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Chapter 12: Don't Believe

The Joker called up Randall, and within a few short minutes we were leaving the slaughterhouse with the by then dead Batman impersonator. Once we arrived back at the warehouse, the Joker instructed some of the men still lingering in the building to go with Randall and bring the body to City Hall. I didn't catch the rest of the directions, as I returned to the bedroom while he continued to brief them.

I closed the bedroom door behind me and sighed as I unzipped my boots. I wasn't accustomed to wearing shoes, much less boots, for such a long period. I'd always performed barefoot, and the only shoes I'd owned was a simple pair of ballet flats that I wore outside. The night had been humid, and my sleeves clung to my arms. I already knew that I was going to cut them away, whether he liked it or not.

I undressed and changed into a simple pair of pink pajama shorts and a white camisole. Sitting down on the floor, I slid my legs into a splitting position and pressed my torso to the ground. My body felt quite tense, and I figured that some stretches would help my muscles loosen up, considering that I had to relax my body to complete most of my forms. Slowly, Jester's personality faded from my mind until I knew that we were once again separate, at which point she happily lingered in the back of my head, going on and on about how it had been so nice to see her sweetheart again, and how he hadn't changed a bit over the years. Her bright chattering soon became a simple lull in my head, and I was aware of nothing else until I felt a pair of hands rest upon my shoulders.

Jerking slightly, I found myself on my knees, with my forehead resting on the bed and my arms hanging limply at my sides. I lifted my head, realizing that I had fallen asleep, and felt someone's warm breath on the back of my neck; each breath brought gooseflesh to my skin. When I turned my head, my hair brushed against his face. He gave a small laugh and I felt his nose nudge against my ear. Immediately, I whipped around to face him, and he smiled amusedly. He was no longer wearing his coat.

"Tiiiired?" he asked.

I nodded halfheartedly, and my head felt weighed down. Wow, I was exhausted. Then, he scooped me up off the floor and unceremoniously dropped me on the bed. I gave a small shriek as my body hit the mattress, which made him begin to laugh at me. With a groan, I crawled toward the head of the bed and then plopped down, pressing my face into one of the pillows.

I closed my eyes and could feel myself slipping away, when his hand rested itself on the back of my knee. My eyes immediately shot open, staring into the pillow. It was a cold hand that rested on my leg; not a gloved hand, but a cold, naked one. He'd never touched me before with his bare hands in such a manner. In fact, he hadn't touched me in this manner before at all, and the feeling shocked me. The backs of knees were very sensitive areas, and the touch of his bare hand there sent shivers through my body. Slowly, his hand slid up my leg, ghosted over my thigh, and was about to cup my bottom when I whirled around and went to smack him. He caught my hand in midair, a smirk playing on his face. Obviously, he had been expecting me to react in such a manner.

"I _thought_ so," he said, tightly squeezing my hand in his. I could feel his bones crushing mine, his nails digging into my skin. When I gave a gasp of pain, he grinned and tightened his grip, only releasing me once I was writhing on the bed. I turned over to lie on my back, holding my throbbing hand to my chest and trying to flex my fingers. "Ba_ck_ to being _ser_iousss, little Lina."

He got onto the bed and positioned himself over me, his hands on either side of my head. "You were di_ff_-er-_ent_ tonight," he stated, gazing down at me curiously.

For a moment, I just glared up at him, still nursing my hand. When the pain began to subside, I asked, "Is that bad?"

One of his hands absentmindedly played with a lock of my hair.

"Maybe…maybe I uh, _liked_ i_t_."

I certainly had not been expecting this answer, and I cocked my head, narrowing my eyes as I peered up at him suspiciously. "You did?"

"Yeeeah, you re_mind_ed me of this, this girl I used to know, wore _skimpy_ outfits, and uh, laughed at _every_thing I said. That got…a_nnoy_ing," his tongue brushed over his lips, "She was _kind_ of touchy-feeeely." I barely detected a shiver run through him. It wasn't one of fear, but aversion. I wondered if perhaps he had issues with being touched. He obviously had no problem instigating contact, with how he grabbed my hands and face so often. Yet, earlier when Jester had reached toward him just to adjust his collar, his entire manner had turned suspicious, defensive. It was as though he assumed that if anyone tried to touch him, even me, it would only be with the intent of causing him harm. Then again, with the kind of life that he led, I wouldn't have been surprised if most people were out to get him.

For a moment, I wondered if he had actually had a real relationship with someone; that thought didn't make me happy for some reason. "Were you an item?" I asked, trying to appear only slightly interested.

He seemed to consider my words, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "I guess so…but I li_ked_ to think of us as uh, _partners_. Our re_la_tionshi_p_ was com-po-_lete_ly _professional_." And then I knew exactly whom he was talking about. He gently pulled on my hair. "My little Jessster…" He trailed off into a small fit of giggles.

I looked away from him, and stared at the wall. "I'm Lina. Jester's only here when I need to deal with you."

"Oh _rea_lly?" He sounded amused, intrigued, with a bit of laughter in his voice. He twisted his hand in my hair and yanked my head so that I looked at him. That serpentine tongue darted out for a moment. "Deal with _this_."

His free hand cupped my chin and his mouth collided with mine. Completely shocked, I didn't respond at first. His lips were insistent, working against mine with animalistic aggression. When my mind caught up with the situation, I pushed against him, but to no avail. Something within me wanted to say that the sensation of his jagged scars rubbing against my face felt right (no doubt Jester was a part of that), but any rational sense that I had was screaming to stop this; fearing that I would experience a repeat of what happened the last time this occurred, I began to panic. I grabbed a handful of his hair and tugged as hard as I could, finally able to get his face away from mine. He growled as his head twisted backwards and he was forced to stare up at the ceiling. I kneed him in the stomach and pushed him off me so hard that he landed on the floor.

I held my breath as I waited for something to occur, but for a while there was no retaliation on his part, no sounds, no movements. Then, I heard a click, and the blade of his knife rose up alongside the bed, followed by his hand and his arm, and the rest of him slowly came into view until he towered over me. His eyes were dark, boring into me with in what I took to be anger. I was fully expecting him to lock me in the bathroom once again, when he got back on the bed and began to trace the outline of my face with the tip of his knife. I shivered beneath the contact, waiting for the blade to sink into my skin.

"Very goo_d_," he murmured, licked his lips. "You deal_t_ with it. Your reaction was…a _bit_ de_lay_ed, which would have ended uh, verrry _bad_ly for you if I had _act_ually wanted you." Truthfully, I felt insulted by the comment, for no reason that I could think of. It unsettled me. "But, we'll uh, wor_k_ on i_t_." I could only fathom what he meant by that as he chuckled. He stopped tracing my face and closed the switchblade, stuffing it into his trouser pocket. He lied down on the bed beside me and started to play with my hair again. I found that I actually didn't mind when he did that, as long as he wasn't trying to yank out my hair. Looking over at him, I could see that he was staring up at the ceiling. "Don't worry. I _do_ like you, if that's what you're _worr_ying abou_t_."

I realized that that _was_ what I'd feared, surprisingly.

"Re_d_ hair suits you…keep i_t_." His hand left my tresses and rested on my palm. He made a face, as though he wanted to say something, but didn't know how. He gave my hand a soft squeeze, a complete difference from the crushing he'd inflicted on it earlier. "You got pretty," he muttered, so low that I almost didn't hear the words. Perhaps he hadn't meant for me to. Closing my eyes, I simply allowed myself to enjoy the silence between us. It was pleasant, and soon I heard the steady inhale and exhale of his breaths. I looked to see that his eyes were closed in sleep. I smiled at the tranquil expression on his face. This meant more to me than anything he'd done so far, even if he didn't realize he had done it. Holding his now limp hand to my chest, I contentedly watched him lie there until I closed my eyes as well.

That night, I had no nightmares.

~*****~

I woke to find myself alone, but I was accustomed to this by now. After showering and dressing, I made my way downstairs and heard voices coming from one of the rooms. Opening the door, I looked in to find him sitting on the sofa, hunched over and staring intently at the television. His gloved hands rested on his knees, his fingers tapping out some sort of pattern. He was watching the news. Silently, I entered the room, closing the door behind me, and came to stand behind the sofa.

"_Police released video footage found concealed on the body. Sensitive viewers, be aware. The image is disturbing._"

The screen switched from a shot of the anchorman to a black and white image of the Batman impersonator, and we watched the video from the previous night. I found myself fidgeting with some loose threads on the sofa as I tried to find my image on the screen. To my satisfaction, I had successfully remained absent from any shots. However, something that the Joker said in the video confused me, something that I hadn't even thought about before.

"I don't understand," I said, once the video ended. He glanced up at me as I seated myself on the arm of the sofa. "You said that the mob wanted you to dispose of the Batman. Why do you want him to remove his mask? I mean, wouldn't it be easier to just kill him?"

He grabbed the remote from beside him and turned off the television. With a sigh, he tilted his head downward and peered up at me from beneath his brows, and he wet his lips. "There's no _fun_ in just _killing_ the Ba_t_ Man. See, people think that he's some _high_ and migh_t_y…un_touch_able presence. And it's all because, all because of that ma_sk_. It adds _my_ssstery, and makes them forget that he's ju_st_ a person. He's no_t_ a _god_; he's _hu_man, ju_st_ like the rest of 'em."

Then, I understood what the point of removing the Batman's mask was.

"So," I began slowly, standing up, "by making him take off his mask, he reveals who he really is, and that ends the idea of the Batman." I took a few steps away from the couch, then abruptly turned around. "And without that idea, the Batman himself won't exist anymore?" I hoped that I was on the right track.

"Well, I also can't _wait_ to see…to _see_ the looks on everyone's faces when they find out who the _nut_ actually is," he gave a laugh, "but you get the poin_t_. You ta_k_e away the ma_sk_, and all that's left is a man. A re-_gu_-lar Joe who's just like uh, everyone elssse. The sa_m_e as you and _me_…well no, that's not _tr_ue. See, _we're_ not like everyone else, 'cause _we_ know it, and they don'_t_."

Up until that last part, I'd understood. But now, he had just lost me.

"What do we know?"

He stood up. "The truth."

"Which is?"

He took a step toward me and grabbed my shoulders, leaning down to stare directly into my face. "There is _no_ ma_gic_."

Ah, yes, that was something I'd learned a long time ago. When I was eight years old, I began to see that there was no magic, that everything could be explained by hidden contraptions and sleight of hand. Our show had been a captivating one, composed of fantastic lies and deception. But in the end, behind the curtain, there was nothing enchanting about it, especially when the circus downsized to more of a sideshow. The ringmaster had been a cruel jailor, the strongman had been a violent steroid addict, the large woman had had diabetes and a whole shitload of other medical problems, the Siamese twins had constantly bickered and been close to cutting themselves apart, and I, the contortionist, was dealing with increasing pain in my joints, just to name a few of our little truths. There had been nothing special or wonderful about any of us. We had been prisoners, marionettes working for and controlled by the cruel jailor puppeteer. Except, fear had been our strings, the fear that defiance would end with a bullet in our skull. It had all seemed so wonderful to those on the outside, a fantastic act that was anything but a magical.

"And what about you?" I had to ask, "Are you a regular Joe behind your mask?"

He released my shoulders. "Honey, this is no ma_sk_," he said, gesturing to his face; his greasepaint was smudged, nonexistent in some places, and his lips were a pinkish color. He obviously hadn't touched it up at all since last night. "You of aaall people shoul_d_ know that I'm not hiding anything. If I wanted to, wanted to hi_d_e, I'd take _off_ my fa_c_e." He grinned, his tongue darted out again, and his next words reminded me of something he'd said a long time ago: "Wha_t_ you _see_ is wha_t_ you _get_."

With that, he ruffled my hair, erupting into jovial laughter when I grimaced, and left the room. I slowly sat down on the couch, contemplating his answer.

Even when Jack had been at his worst, he'd never actually called the Joker his true self. I couldn't help but wonder if Jack and the Joker had completely switched places. The Joker used to be a costume and makeup, an act. Perhaps the little sparks of Jack that I thought I saw at times were in fact shams, and the Joker was the true actor pulling all the strings. I wondered if Jack had ever been real at all, if the Joker had simply hidden behind a mask of humanity and fooled me the entire time. It certainly would reinforce my belief that nothing was as it seemed.

No, I refused to accept that. If the Joker had been in control all along, I doubted that he would have tried to protect me from himself, that he would have left in order to keep me safe. Unless…no, Jack was real, alive somewhere deep down inside the Joker. And one way or another, I was going to bring him out.

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	14. Don't Speak

**Arathelia, catincanada, Poison Maker, Shadow HeHaHo, and Darkness Takes Over, I am hugging each and every one of you because you are the reason that I got this chapter out. I am no longer suffering from writer's block. In fact, I've been hit with lots of inspiration. But of course, this inspiration has come in the form a stalking little plot bunny from Repo! The Genetic Opera. It's all I've been able to write about for the past couple weeks, which is really annoying because I want to finish THIS story before I post anything else that could possibly take away my attention from it. So, later than I had hoped, I give you the next chappie, with a slight change of scenery =)**

**If you're still reading this story, then I doubt that anything down the road will disturb you. But just as a warning, this chapter is a little...weird, I guess, near the end.**

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Chapter 13: Don't Speak

"_I'll come back for you, Lina," he murmured into my hair. He put his hand beneath my chin and forced me to look up at him. "I promise; I promise, I'll find you as soon as I get better and I can take care of both of us." I tried to keep a strong countenance, somewhat heartened by his words. He briefly pressed his lips to the crown on my head. He smiled. "But until then, be good, and stay alive. So when it's time for us to go on, don't you dare go inside that tent."_

_I stared up into dark brown eyes that returned my gaze. "Why not?"_

_Again, he smiled, yet this time his grin was dark and warped. "Let's just say that I intend to leave with a bang."_

_I pulled away from him and said, "Wait here, I'll be right back."_

_I hurried to my bedroll in one of the semi trucks. I dug through my belongings, not much at all, and found what I wanted: a small snapshot of us that had been taken during one of our practices. He was dressed in only a pair of cargo shorts, while I wore my old leotard. It took us so long to get that hold right. I remembered that the flash from the camera had distracted him and he dropped me on the ground. I found a pen in one of my truck mate's bags and hastily scribbled on the back of the photo: _Love you- Lina_. I didn't want him to forget about me. I ran back to the costume tent, only to find that he was gone, and my trainer was there instead._

"_You, my little protégé, why are you not dressed? You and that boy go on in ten minutes!" Before I could react, she threw my costume at me and said, "Now get ready, or else I shall really give your body a workout." I hastily dressed and applied my makeup as she watched me from the tent flap. Her constant observation gave me no chance to escape, and I nervously shifted from foot to foot while I waited._

_Then, I heard Gaston's voice bellow from the loudspeakers set up around the tent, announcing my name. I bounded out into the ring and waved at the enthusiastic audience, smiling the biggest, fakest smile I could muster as I waited for him to introduce Jack, who would then enter from the other side of the tent. The spotlights blinded me as I trembled from head to toe, waiting for something awful to happen. He warned me not to be inside the tent, and here I was. I would have run, but the armed guards positioned around the tent discouraged those thoughts. As far as the audience knew, those guns were filled with tranquilizers in case we lost control of an animal, but they were actually there to prevent gutsy performers and crew from escaping._

"_And now, her dashing partner and mast—" A choking sound echoed in the speakers, and a screeching noise filled the tent, causing murmurs to pass through the audience._

A loud buzzing sound echoes in my ears, and I jerk my head up from the table, realizing that I'd somehow fallen asleep. I blearily look up through squinted eyes to see Commissioner Gordon closing the door as he steps into the room.

I sit up straight in the chair, demurely folding my hands in my lap and batting my eyelashes at him as he approaches the table. My mouth curls upward in a little, coy smile. I make sure that the expression doesn't reach my eyes. He sits across from me once again, pushing that same pen and pad of paper in front of me.

"How are you feeling?" he asks. I shrug my shoulders. "Is there anything I can get you? Water?"

I take up the pen and contemplate a moment before scribbling something onto the paper.

_I'm hungry._

He read my message and gives me a half smile. "Tell you what, Velina." That's not my name. That's not the name I wrote down earlier. Why does he think that's my name? "If you just tell us what you know, I would be happy to —"

He stops, looking at me curiously as I again write something down. I slide the pad across the table.

_Why do you think my name is Velina?_

After glancing at my print, he says, "I remembered your last name from the circus fiasco three weeks ago. Your name had been on the fliers advertising the show. I assumed that Lina was just a nickname for Velina. Am I wrong?"

_My name isn't Velina._

"All right then. Lina—"

_My name isn't Lina either._

He pauses at this statement. "Then, may I ask what your name is?"

I nod my head, and then simply stare at him. He raises his eyebrows after a moment, expectance written in his features. Another odd moment passes, and then I close my eyes and nod my head thoughtfully. I let out a tiny laugh through my nose and grasp the pen.

_I apologize. I thought you were going to ask. Silly me._

He visibly frowns at my response. Perhaps he isn't in the mood to play games. However, I like games. Games are fun, and after my little nap, I'm wide-awake and in the mood to have some fun. I cock my head to the side, waiting.

He sighs, pressing a hand to his temple. "What is your name?" Another long pause passes, during which he looks at me with anticipation, and I absentmindedly tug at one of my pigtails. I need to tighten them; they're drooping too much. Drooping pigtails aren't happy pigtails. I notice that he's still staring at me, and I smile again. Widening my eyes in feigned innocence, I pass him the pad.

_Oh, you expect an answer in return for your question?_

"Miss Victoire, I'm in no mood for games." Ha, I knew it. All work and no play. That's no way to live life, Commissioner. I furiously scribble a long reply to his remark before forcefully pushing the pad across the table and into his lap, and chucking the pen across the room. I glare at him, clutching the metal arms of the chair.

_I never would have guessed. You could have simply asked me what my name is and been straightforward in the matter. You chose to ask my permission to ask me what it is, and then did not proceed to ask me once I gave you consent to do so, somehow expecting an answer to __a question that you had not yet asked, all the while assuming that I would give you an answer, when I never implied that I would do such a thing. Forgive me for thinking that you wished to play games._

He drops the pad to the floor and I can see that he's trying to keep a level head. "Miss Victoire, if you don't cooperate, then I can do nothing for you. You will be charged with—"

Static-laced yelling emits from the radio hanging at his waist. He immediately grasps it and holds it to his mouth.

"What's the problem?" Another shout bursts from the radio, one that I can't understand. "Goddamn it," he mutters, replacing the radio at his hip. He picks up the pad of paper and retrieves the pen before hurrying from the room. I can hear raised voices when the door opens, but then it shuts with a thud and I'm left with only the low whining of the lights for company.

I can barely feel myself coming down from that mental high. The transitions are becoming so smooth that sometimes I can't tell the difference between the two of me. I'm so tired, I don't think I can fake another smile (was I faking?), and I don't want to. I'm just so mentally drained, and yet I'm also rather bored, just sitting here in this cold room. I can't tell how long I've been here, only because I haven't looked up at the clock since sometime before I fell asleep. I'm too afraid to know how long it's been, how much time has passed without Him coming to my aid. Maybe he won't come; he has no reason to. After all, he owes me nothing. He saved me, and I got him out of a sticky situation. We're even now, and nothing holds us together.

The fluorescent lighting is too harsh for me to even consider taking a nap, with the white floor and walls only seeming to magnify the brightness, and the incessant ticking of the clock is past simply getting on my nerves. My hands are still shaking, but no longer because of anxiety. My mind is just agitated right now, and I feel as though I've consumed a great deal of caffeine. On second thought, maybe it _is_ stress. Oh, who am I kidding? I'm a mental wreck at the moment. I need to move, do something, otherwise I'm going to lose it. Haha, going to? It's a bit too late for that, I think. Nonetheless, just standing up, stretching my legs will do me some good. However, these blasted cuffs aren't too fond of that idea. It was smart of the Commissioner to take the pen away. Who knows what I could have managed to do with that? Maybe pick the lock on these things. Well, I'm obviously helpless without that little writing instrument. I smirk. Yeah right.

Gritting my teeth, I squeeze my hand, just above the wrist, until I feel that hot, popping sensation. I slide my hand through the cuff and set the bones back in place with a wince. Standing up, I glance toward the door, expecting someone to come in to subdue me. When no such person enters, I glance over at the large mirror and wonder if anyone is watching me. With a shrug of my shoulders, I decide that I don't mind. I used to be an entertainer; I'm accustomed to people watching me.

It feels nice to move my legs, but gosh, they're sore. When I think about it, almost everywhere is sore, though my legs are the worst. Well…maybe not. I walk up to the mirror and tap on the glass. If someone is there, I really do need to know. No one enters the room. I pound my fist against the glass and scream through my sealed lips. Huh, still no answer. I figure that everyone's trying to take care of whatever problem took the Commissioner away. Ah well, it's not as if I'm disappointed. For a moment, I just stare at my reflection, turning this way and that to inspect my figure from several angles. I still can't believe how different I look; it's almost surreal…almost beautiful. I don't even feel like I'm viewing my own body. So much has happened in the last few weeks, specifically this past one. If someone were to come up to me while I was still in the circus and tell me that I was going to do even half the things that I've done, I would've assumed they were crazy.

I turn away from the mirror and walk to the other side of the room (just in case someone decides to ditch the crisis taking place), reach beneath my skirt, and pull aside my panties. With the other hand, I push two fingers up into myself. If not for the fact that I can't, I probably would cry out right now. This hurts like a bitch! I feel my fingers clasp onto something long and cold, and I extract the object, this time groaning at the pain the friction causes. I wipe the item on my sweater to clean away any of myself before holding it up to the light. Pressing the small switch, I release the crimson-stained blade. He told me to keep His favorite knife safe, and so far I've managed to do so.

I run my fingers along the edge of the blade and tease the pad of a finger with its sharp tip. A red drop wells up, contrasting against my pale skin like ink on parchment. I gave my soul to the devil, and I signed the contract in flesh and blood. That's not something that I can ever take back, nor is it something that I wish to.

Pressing harder, I watch as more blood rises to the surface and runs down my finger. I do the same to the other appendages, entranced by the thin, crimson rivulets. Is this all my blood? Or does some of it belong to the people that I've murdered? I'm not sorry that I killed them. The ends justify the means. He was just trying to teach them all a lesson and they were too dense to understand. It's a concept that everyone needs to learn eventually, one that He and I both discovered early on. There is no magic. Fairy tales are shit, lies. All those people who think He's a psychopath, that He needs to be locked away, they're all just ignorant animals that would rather believe in society's illusions than the truth.

I won't talk. I refuse to betray the person who's done so much for me. My answer is no, and as I continue to watch the blood run down my hands and wrists, an idea forms in my head. I want my message to be loud and clear. Well, I supposed it'll be more silent than loud, considering my current state. I'm not too capable of loud right now. I approach the mirror and press a finger against the cool glass. I drag my finger down a ways, and then lift it away from the glass. I start another line from the same point, this time dragging my finger downward diagonally to the left. I then begin another one, dragging it straight down until it connects with the end of the second. To the left of this series of lines, I paint a circle on the mirror. I continue with my artwork, wondering what He would think of what I'm doing. Would He be proud of my defiance? For a moment, I consider cutting apart my mouth's binding, which would no doubt slice my lips open as well. And the blood that spilled from my lips would become a part of this work of art, a statement of silence. Actions speak louder than words. The blood from my hands would mix with the blood from my mouth, actions and words mingling in a piece of quiet defiance. How poetic. But no, He owns my mouth, just like the rest of me. Until He says otherwise, my lips will remain sealed.

It's odd, because I'm not usually the one to make big statements. I went about doing my tasks as quietly as possible, not drawing attention to myself. Of course, that was the entire point. He's the famous one, and I'm just the girl that would be seen tagging along behind him. Like a trophy wife, I was made to be seen and not heard, and I haven't really been seen that much either. The police don't know who I am, a fact made obvious by the Commissioner's pointless little questions. As far as most people know, I don't even have a name. I'm just His little sidekick. But I know that I'm important; I'm His Jester. Jester! Maybe I should sign this red masterpiece once I finish it, let them all know my name. This can be my big entrance into society. He sure knows how to make an entrance. At that party, he commanded everyone's undivided attention when he entered the room. My lips twitch, the closest I've come to a genuine smile since being brought here. No one noticed me that night, but I played a crucial role…

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	15. Dead!

**peacefulgrace, Poison Maker, NejisDarkNymph, immy, Cat, Darkness Takes Over, Anon., Art-Dreamer, and Caty14, thank you so much for reviewing. I admit, I do come up with some…weird/icky things, and now I'm wondering how many people I dissuaded from reading at the beginning lol. But if anyone does have complaints or suggestions about the story, I'd like to know what they are. I really do value your guys' input.**

**Well, I could say that I haven't posted because of college, which is in part true, but I'm ashamed to admit that I just almost never wanted to write, and anything I did write was pretty much crap. I personally am not happy with this chapter, I'm afraid I've got some OOCness running around, but I don't think that any more changing and tweaking will help and I really wanted to get something out because I DO NOT want to abandon this story. So I'm sorry if this bit isn't up to par, and I feel terrible for leaving it alone this long. I hope you guys haven't lost faith in me. And yes, I changed the title of this story, I never really liked the old one and felt this was much more fitting.**

**Poison Maker: My inspiration for a new development that occurs in this chapter came from your second piece of art, so thanks!**

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Chapter 14: Dead!

I was getting annoyed. Nick had dropped by about an hour ago, and he and I were watching television. Well, we were trying to anyway. He would keep it on a channel for about a minute, and just as I would start to get into the program he would switch to another channel. By the time he'd gone through the entire range of channels at least two times, I had a feeling that he was doing it just to bug me. Then it landed on the news station, and the cinematic masterpiece from last night was playing again.

"So, this is what you and the boss did after you ditched us?" he asked, gesturing toward the screen.

I only nodded my head in response. While before I was excited by the prospect that they were airing our work on television, at that point I felt sick. I'd been much too happy to murder that man for the Joker—no, Jack. I was doing this for Jack…wasn't I?

**Honey, there's nothing wrong with doing our man a few favors.**

"_Our_ man? Since when is he ours?"

**Since your little Jack and the Joker became the same devilishly handsome man.**

"Like we sometimes do?"

**Exactly. See, Sweetie **—

"Who are you talking to?" Nick asked, and I at once ignored Jester. I really needed to quit speaking to her in public; otherwise, I would be considered the resident nutcase. Well…that position might have already been filled.

**I completely disagree.**

"Just…thinking out loud," I murmured.

He gave me a skeptical look, but chose not to respond. I liked Nick. He didn't talk as much as Randall did, but he was a far cry from Terrence, who I suspected hated me for some reason. It seemed like Nick was a quiet person in general with an almost nervous disposition, the way his hands sometimes fidgeted or his eyes shifted toward the closed door. I wondered how he handled the kind of work that went on around there, but then thought that maybe the work was the cause of his nature. A whirring sound began and Nick jumped; then he reached into his jeans pocket. He took out a cell phone and stared at the caller ID for a few seconds before flipping it open and saying, "Yeah?" He raised an eyebrow and glanced over at me. "Fine," was all he said before handing the phone to me.

Taking the phone in my hands, I tentatively held it up to my ear. "H-hello?"

"_Hey, Lina. I got a question." _It was Randall.

"Umm…alright."

"_What's your dress size?"_

"…Two?"

"_Damn, that's small. Well thanks, I'll see you later."_ With that, he hung up, and I was confused. I closed the phone and handed it back to Nick.

"What did he want?" he asked.

"My dress size," I said, still wondering why.

He smiled, and I had a hunch that he knew perfectly well why Randall has asked me that. "I guess you're coming along then."

"What do you mean?"

Nick just kept smiling at me, but that expression dropped from his face when the door opened and the Joker walked in. "C'mere," he said, beckoning toward me. There was nothing amiable about his expression, his eyes dark and red mouth set in a frown. I was at once convinced that I was in some sort of trouble. Nervously standing up, I caught Nick's eye as I walked toward the Joker.

"Anyway, see you later," he said, and went right back to flipping through the channels. Maybe he hadn't been trying to bug me after all.

The Joker grabbed my wrist when I was close enough and jerked me through the doorway, closing the door behind us. He started toward the doorway at the end of the hall, tugging me along.

"Got any plans for tonight?" he asked, and I shook my head, which he didn't see. "Well, now you do. You see, Bruce Wayne is throwing a little bash for the D.A., and I think my invitation got lost in the mail, because I know he wouldn't forget to invite me. No, he wouldn't."

Tripping up the stairs, I asked, "So what am I? Your date?"

He waved a hand dismissively, and I imagine that he made a face as well. "Eh, sure, why not?" We entered the bedroom and he immediately released me. He shrugged out of his overcoat and placed it on the table, sitting down in a chair. "But I'm going to send you and Terry in before me and the other boys because I need to have a little talk with Mr. Harvey Dent, and I don't want to make my big entrance until I know he's there. So, I want you to scope out the scene, like a little bitty fly on the wall."

I peered at him, slowly going over the job in my head. "So, I'm _not_ your date?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Not really. As far as anyone will know, _my_ little Jester won't even be there. Nope, instead you'll be _Missss_ Molly Jen_k_ins, arm candy of…" he reached into his coat and pulled out a white card, "a Gerald Prescott. Such a _nice_ guy, gave me his invitation, something about not uh, being able to make it on account of lying in a dump_st_er." He'd barely finished speaking when he began to howl with laughter, slapping the card against his thigh.

I waited until he'd quieted down for the most part to ask, "Why are you giving me a new name?"

"Because knowing you, you'd use your _real_ name." He laughed; he never did give me enough credit. I was always dimwitted little Lina, who couldn't think for herself. It probably didn't help that I constantly trailed along behind him like some sort of puppy. He had always been a leader, and he protected me. He was like an older brother, the kind who could beat on their sibling, but if anyone else dared to then he'd be there to dissuade them against such behavior. And I'd do whatever he told me to, because he just emitted that air of power. Because I knew that in the end, he was looking out for me.

However, I didn't need him to look out for me anymore. I was a woman now, not a little girl. I hadn't been a little girl for a long time. When Jack left, as did Jester, I couldn't afford to be a kid anymore. I hated that he'd abandoned me, whether or not he did it for my own good.I hated him. I hated him so much. He had no idea what hell I went through, all because of him! He had no right to sit there and tell me what to do, mock my intelligence. I wanted to hurt him so badly, and I didn't even know whom exactly. Jack for leaving me? Or the Joker for giving him a reason to?

**Well, they **_**are**_** the same person, Darling.**

Before I knew what I was doing, I had tackled him, sending the chair and both of us toppling to the ground with a crash. I cracked my knuckles against his face continually, just trying to hurt him as much as possible.

**What are you doing? Stop it! Stop it right now!**

I ignored Jester, and soon there was blood gushing from Jack's nose and he was trying to seize my wrists. I somehow managed to avoid his grasp, just swinging at him repeatedly. He wasn't laughing. He wasn't even smiling. However, I didn't care. I wasn't thinking anymore.

**I said stop it!**

Warmth traveled through my body, every part of me encased in liquid velvet. I barely noticed, for I must've just been heating up from stress and my body's exertions. However, it kept increasing, hotter and hotter. I tried to ignore it, continuing to hit Jack.

**Stop!**

Then, something happened, something that scared me more than anything. I stopped. Every muscle within me froze, practically on fire, and I just stared straight ahead of me as my body fell sideways and to the floor. And then spasms racked my body, traveling through every part of me until tears streamed down my face. But I couldn't cry out, I couldn't scream. I knew that I was dying.

Just as sudden as it happened, it stopped. I lied there like a doll, vaguely aware that the Joker was kneeling over me. Each breath hurt, and I barely had the strength to keep my eyes open. Somehow, I rolled onto my side, even though I didn't remember trying to do that. I placed my palms against the floor and pushed myself up. No, I _didn't_. That time, I definitely hadn't tried to move. I couldn't figure out what was going on. I was sitting on the floor, arms hanging limply by my sides as I locked gazes with the Joker. I didn't want to look at him, but I couldn't turn away. I couldn't even close my eyes.

_**What happened?**_

Something was wrong. That…that was me, my voice. However, my lips didn't move. And the Joker didn't hear me.

"What was _that_?" he asked. My thoughts exactly.

I felt my mouth curve up into a coy smile.

"I'm not sure." That time, my lips moved. However, that was not my voice. It was smoother, seductive, more of a purr than an actual voice. "But I'm all right." I batted my eyelashes, something that I'd never done before. "How about you? Are _you_ all right?"

My hand reached forward, albeit somewhat shakily. His gaze was glued to my hand as it neared his face. I tried to do something, make a fist with that hand or pull it back, but neither happened. Just before the flat of my hand pressed against his cheek, he seized it, crushing my fingers in his grip. My eyes squinted in a wince.

"Hello…Jessster," he drawled, and he licked his lips. "It's been a while."

"Too long if you ask me."

I felt beads of sweat form upon my brow, and my body felt tired, incredibly tired like I had just finished several performances in a row. My palms grew sweaty as well, and it must have been by a noticeable amount, for the Joker released my hand and wiped his own on his pants.

He raised an eyebrow. "You feeling okay?"

"Mm…hmm." It was a soft grunt, and I knew that we were anything but. Something was wrong, terribly wrong; and before I knew it, I felt myself falling backward. My head cracked against the floor, and I groaned. His face appeared above mine, his expression one of vague curiosity.

"You look like shit," was all he said before standing up and stalking out of the room. The faint noise of running water reached my ears, though the pounding of my heartbeat echoing through my head mostly muffled it.

"What did you do to me?" I whispered, relieved that my lips moved this time, though my voice was raspy.

**I…took the wheel…so to speak. Now you…listen to me, kid. I don't like you…going fucking mental on him…like that, and obviously I've got some…power over this underfed thing you…call a body. So control yourself, otherwise…I will.**

She sounded exhausted, much like how I felt. Still, her words sent a shiver of fear through my body.

"But…how can you do this?"

**Oh, I've had…years of practice. That "help" I give you, didn't you ever…wonder what exactly it is? Subtle suggestions…to your body, but because you…asked for my help you thought I…just gave you a boost of confidence to do those things…all on your own.**

"So, that feeling I get whenever —"

**I've always taken my time acclimating myself, but…obviously I didn't have that luxury this occasion. **

That would explain why she was so tired, mixed with the fact that she'd taken complete control of my body instead of giving it "subtle suggestions." Now, I questioned everything I'd ever done as Jester. What had been of my own free will? Those men, had I really been the one that killed them? Or was I, in a sense, still innocent? Had I been the one that pushed the knife into the mobster's abdomen or dragged it across the Batman impersonator's throat?

I recalled times when I was a teenager, out in the ring with Jack, doing stunts of which I'd never thought myself capable. But _she_ had given me the confidence to go through with every trick, a confidence that I was no longer sure had been simply confidence. My success, had it been my doing, or hers?

A hand closing around my throat and hauling me up from the floor interrupted my spiraling thoughts. I clutched at the offending hand and tried to relieve some of the crushing pressure but to no avail; his hold on me refused to lighten. He made his way into the bathroom, my feet dragging along the floor, and he forced me to my knees in front of the tub, which I noted was now filled.

**Now you've done it.**

I felt his hand grab the back of my head; and before I could do anything, he'd forced it beneath the water. The frigid temperature of the water made me scream out of shock, and any air I might have had left me as water rushed into my mouth. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't _breathe_! I flailed my arms and tried to kick out blindly at my tormentor. However, I felt him position himself on my legs while his other hand caught my wrists and pinned them behind my back. Still, I squirmed, wriggled, struggled against the Joker. However, my movements, thought frantic, were beginning to slow as my limbs felt heavier and heavier. Air, I needed air. I squeezed my eyes shut, realizing that this was one bind I wouldn't be able to escape from, and it would end up being my last.

Just as I was sure I couldn't last any longer, the hand on the back of my head yanked me up by my hair. A gasped for air, filling my deprived lungs as quickly as I could; the next moment, I was back under. Once more, I thrashed against the Joker, and when I felt the pressure on my legs decrease I hoped it would soon be over.

However, the hand twisted in my hair pulled away, and I was only able to lift my head above the water for a moment before my legs were lifted; I was flipped over the rim of the tub and into the water. My head slammed against the bottom, and spots danced before my eyes for a moment. Hurriedly, I sat up, coughing and sputtering, rubbing at my eyes to clear my vision.

The click of a gun's safety made me freeze. Slowly, I lowered my hands to see him standing above me, pointing said gun right at my face.

"Now…I don't know what the, what the _fuck_ that was, but right now I don't care. I thought we were getting along sa-wimmingly. Obviously, I was mi_st_aken. I'm all for you having a bit of…of _fire_, but I'm getting _sick_ of your little, your little _freak_-outs, and I'm pre_tt_y damn sure I taught you that it's _not_ nice to hit people. And by people, I mean _me_. But I guess the message never got all the way through your thick head."

**Apologize right now, or we're dead.**

I said nothing, simply staring into those dark eyes. The swearing was what scared me the most; that was the signal that meant my odds weren't good. While Jack had never been a saint, he did hold the belief that those who swore only did so because they were in possession of a limited vocabulary and he prided himself on having a rather extensive one. I'd also asked Randall about it once, as I'd wondered the Joker's lack of swearing was for the same reason. As far as Randall knew, it was just another way that he separated himself from other criminals. He'd said that the Joker was in a class all his own. Him swearing meant that he was too pissed off to keep himself in check; while he usually appeared unbridled, I knew that wasn't the case.

**Damn it, apologize! Beg, do something or else I will!**

I felt my eyes begin to water, scared to move and absolutely terrified of experiencing her wrath again. "Please," I whispered, "please don't kill me." My face scrunched up as tears begin to leak from my eyes.

**More!**

"I-I'll do whatever you want," I cried, hands gripping the edge of the tub. "Just don't kill me!"

He looked toward the ceiling for a moment and probed the inside of his cheek with his tongue, a wry smile twisting his features. He squatted down, knees brushing against the tub, and he pressed the gun to my temple.

**You've killed us, you idiot!**

She was right. Dead. I was dead. I couldn't take my eyes away from the shining barrel, positive that this time I was a goner. This time it wasn't as simple as outrunning fire; more importantly, this time I wasn't an accidental victim. I was his sole focus.

"Look at me," he growled, and my eyes immediately snapped away from the gun to his grim visage. "Shu_t_ u_p_. If you keep that up, I _will_ kill you right now. _Weak_ness has no place here, and right now you are nothing but pa_the_tically…_weak_."

I would've felt like gloating to Jester if not for the fact that he was right. She might have been in the wrong, but at the same time I _had_ been weak; I caved into her demands just so she wouldn't take my body away from me. I felt caught in the middle, controlled from the outside…and now from within. Instead of one, I now had two people pulling my strings.

He reached toward me with his other hand and ran his knuckles down the side of my face several times. How could his touch be so gentle while he simultaneously held a gun to my head?

"How can I trust you to do…_anything_ when I can't even trust you not to go ba_t_shi_t_ _crazy_ on me every other day?"

Ruminations of my predicament surprisingly gave way to new thoughts that filled me with a mixture of guilt and disappointment: I had gone from being a somewhat trusted companion to hazard number one. He was right. How _could_ he trust me? It used to be that we could _only_ trust each other, in that dangerous world of deceit and showbiz.

"You know, I _really_ want to like you. I really do. But you have this way of making it ex-treme-ly difficul_t_." And to think, the previous night he'd told me that he _did_ like me. However, this wasn't last night, the day before, or twelve years ago. That was something I needed to keep in mind, that this was the present, and the present only moved forward. I knew I needed to move forward as well, but something wouldn't let me. I couldn't help remembering the past. If I didn't, who would? Surely not the Joker, not Jack. Somehow, he'd managed to recall me, whether on purpose or by sheer chance I didn't know. He'd abandoned his past, and yet in the long run I managed to remain in his memories. The fact that he'd remembered me must have counted for something.

"I don't know how you manage to _screw_ up when I'm in a good mood, but I won't fight fa_t_e. I'll give you _one_ chance. One chance to prove yourself, one chance to save your skin. And if you blow it, I can promise that you won't live to regret it...because you won't be living _at all_." His voice dropped an octave at the end, which sent a shiver through me.

Promise, promise, promise...he always kept his promises. Fear hitched in my throat, and I swallowed hard. I gave a small nod of agreement, only knowing that I was willing to do whatever it took to get back on his good side. There had been times when I wished for death, for my living hell to end, but now that I was free, now that I had Jack again…I didn't want to lose that.

Slowly, he lowered the gun and stood, placing it on the counter, and I allowed myself to breathe once more. Although my life wasn't in mortal peril for the moment, the room was still filled with a practically tangible tension; he was still staring at my face, and because his expression failed to lighten at all I figured whatever he saw wasn't good.

"Stand up," he barked suddenly. Shakily, I obeyed, standing in the calf-high water. Without warning, he grabbed my chin, fingers digging into my skin as he inspected my face from all angles. "Get rid of 'em."

My mind went blank as I tried to figure out what he meant. "Get rid of what?"

"These _things_," he prodded one of my scars, "on your face."

"I thought you said that they made me unique." While I didn't object to his idea, he had said that he didn't _ever_ want me to get rid of my scars.

"They do, and they'll draw un_nec_essary attention to you. I mean, I know that you're so used to being in the uh, the spotlight, but the point of your job _isn't_ to be no_tic_ed."

That switchblade was in his hand before I could respond, and the tip of the blade touched my skin as he cut the knotted end of thread. Then, he slowly pulled out each stitch, starting at the cut end, until the entire piece was in his hand and he dropped it to the floor. I turned my head and pulled my wet hair to the side to give him access to the other one, amazed by the way he handled me. His touch was so gentle; it was hard to believe he'd been holding a gun to my head only moments ago. His moods were so unpredictable, but right then I couldn't complain. I knew that I had yet to be forgiven, as I still needed to earn back his trust, but I felt safe. This right here was Jack...this was why I would do what it took to stay.

I caught my reflection in the mirror behind him, surprised to see...just a relatively normal, tear streaked face. Pinpricks of blood had risen to the surface where the thread was gone; but for once, my eyes weren't automatically drawn to those scars. It was surreal to think that a person might be able to look at me for the first time and not instantly judge me as a freak, that Gaston's work was actually reversible. That bastard, even though he was dead, it still felt like he was with me, in each of those marks. Well, for all I knew, he could still somehow be alive. That thought unsettled me.

"He _is_ dead this time, right?" I asked, but was only met with silence as he continued to pull out the thread. Once finished, he cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over the red droplets

After a while, such a long while, he said, "I wouldn't have it _any_ other way. I hadn't expected to see him _st_ill…running things, thought for sure that my uh, my _last_ goodbye present would've changed that." His mouth curved into a smile, and I knew he was remembering what happened the day he left, one of the most horrific moments of my life.

"_Ladies and gentlemen, so sorry, but Mr. Gaston is unable to speak at the moment," I looked up; that was Jack's voice, "but don't worry; this next act is sure to "blow" you all right out of your seats." His howls of laughter rang throughout the big top, and I shivered, waiting for whatever would happen next. The armed guards immediately ran to Gaston's current position, knowing that something was very wrong. Then, I could see him, standing just at the edge of the parking grounds, his purple trench coat flapping wildly behind him in the wind. The grin he wore was laced with malevolent joy, his eyes — I could read them even at such a distance — filled with cruel amusement. His green-tinged tresses fluttered across his painted face, and one gloved hand quickly sought to tuck them behind his ear. With the guards gone, I darted towards the opening, unprepared to perish in his final statement._

_Murmurs rose throughout the befuddled audience while the glaring spotlight attempted to follow my rapid movements. They weren't sure whether this was part of the act._

_I knew what he was going to do. The contraption he held in one hand gave everything away, and it would indeed blow everything away as well. I had to stop him, if not for the sake of my own conscience, then for his. Surely, he could see me running at him. Surely, I would make it before he set off the detonator. My bare inner thighs rubbed against each other, as the fabric of my leotard's skirt brushed my hips with silken caresses. The spotlight's glare temporarily blinded me, and dark blue blotches floated before my vision. Once everything cleared, I could see that his finger was pressed against the small mechanism, and a thunderous roar erupted from all around me._

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I didn't originally intend to go down the whole "alternate personality/borderline schizophrenic thing" route, and even now I'm on the fence about it. I guess that's why I don't love this chapter, because while I wanted it to happen I also wasn't sure if it really belonged. I dunno, you guys be the judge.

**Like it? Hate it? Please leave a review and tell me what you think!**


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